Nervous Wreck
by Sly-Sama
Summary: Next Gen-ish, with a bit of a twist. There hasn't been a set pairing yet but I feel there will be, perhaps even more than one. Be for-warned as well that there is mentions of character death throughout the story. This is about the Man-Who-Lived-To-Save-Everybody but maybe not...everybody, and finding out that somethings aren't as lost as you've always thought. Maybe some will read?
1. Prologue

**Author note:** **You cannot always believe in what you see, and yet most do not believe in what you can't see, so prey tell, what do you believe in then?**

 **Nervous Wreck**

 **Prologue-**

'We are gathered here today, on the restored grounds of Hogwarts to bond these two together in life, in love, in magic, on these hallowed grounds, I, Severus Tobias Snape, by the Ministry of Magic of England, or more importantly by Potter himself, will be doing the honours of this, interesting match.'

'Do you, Harry James Potter, take this beautiful bride, to be your loving wife for all Eternity, through sickness, health, heartache, through the trials you shall face, through the birth of your first child, and through others that follow, do you, Harry, take Luna Arisia Lovegood to be your lawful wedded wife?'

'I very much do, Sir.'

'And do you, Luna Arisia Lovegood, take this Man, this Defeater of Evil, Harry James Potter, to be your loving husband for all Eternity, through sickness, through health, and the many trials you shall face hitherto, do you take Harry to be your lawful wedded husband?'

'Oh, yes sir.'

'Then by this power given to me today, by the trust bestowed in me by these two young adults in love, and the very magic around us, I do hereby declare Harry James Potter and Luna Arisia Potter.' There was a pause.

'You may now kiss the bride Harry.'

'Oh!'

Laughter followed this statement as both the groom and the bride took their first married kiss before the many members of the crowd, Harry's face a rose peach that spread below his white collared shirt and black wedding cloak.  
_

'SEVERUS!' 'SEVERUS!' 'SEVERUS!'

'For the love of, what Potter, what do you WANT?!' His angered face paused on the last word as he stood before his flaring fireplace, his mouth open at the sight that greeted him here. 'What on—'

'Sev-e-Sever-us…I…She…He…They…huu…I was…I was… **It's my fault, it's all my fault!** ' He started to scream and Severus took a step back from the younger man; A younger man that looked half crazed, half blind to anything around him but the fireplace in which he screamed at his Ex-Potions Professor-A young man that was half covered in blood from what his dark eyes could see through the green flames.

He tried for a word in edgewise, but his throat seized up as the man kept going, his downright messy head shaking from left to right with every second word out of his trembling mouth; however, the words that caused Severus throat to seize were the one's Harry kept repeating.

"It's all my fault." "It's all my fault" "It's entirely my fault."


	2. Chapter 1

Shhhft, Shhhft, Shhhft. 'Humph.' Shhfft, Shhfft, Shhfft. 'Where is it, where **is** it?' Where was that blasted book now, he'd been sure he'd had it within his study, but not one look, nor two looks around his entire study revealed the presence of the book he needed to do this job, well, to research things to **do** this job. Turning around on the spot—a last look. A stomp back to face his desk and a last look here, once again revealed no large tome with a red cover.

'Ah!' It came out of his mouth as he swung open the door to check the rest of the house—he needed this book A.S.A.P, or his client wouldn't be very pleased with him, he had another seven days to finish this job, anymore and yes, he'd no longer have this client in his list of employers. 'Marcel!'

'Hi Uncle Harry'

'Hi kiddo, why are you standing in front of my study? You almost gave me a heart attack and Uncle Harry doesn't need one of those right now.' He was holding both the door and his chest as he waited for the six year old to answer him. He looked very curious. Harry blinked.

Marcel blinked, 'What's that?'

'What's what?' he asked, puzzled.

'Uncle Ron was looking for you.' He pointed to his right.

Harry nodded slowly, 'Can it wait?' the boy shrugged. 'Okay…I need to find a book right now, so it will have too, it's really important. Excuse me Cel.' He slipped by, closing the door to his study with a click behind him, a tap to his "nephew's" dark head and strode in the direction of his Library. It was after all, Harry's home that now comprised of two sets of families and Harry himself—he still, unfortunately wasn't sure why they had suddenly showed up on his doorstep saying they were coming to live with him five years ago.

He was at a loss sometimes. He started ransacking his bookcase, the one that spanned to the ceiling and over four walls in the room, coming up with various other books he'd been through recently but not one even resembled the one he looked for now.

'Hi Uncle Harry'

'Oh' he jumped, only just refraining from moving his hand to his chest once more—he did this so often, he almost frowned every time he did so—'Willow, what's up?'

'Daddy wanted you in the kitchen, what you looking for?' Her strawberry head tilted to the right as Harry shifted the books he was holding.

'A book…'

'What kind of book?' Her blue eyes shone as they moved from his hands to his face and to the bookshelf to his left. He stepped forward and lowered himself as he shifted them to the shelf and the space that he was sure had to have once belonged to a few picture frames. He frowned secondly at this numerous thought and focused his green eyes on the small girls'. 'A book this big' He held his hands up to judge the size. 'a deep red covers it, and it's spine, back and front, are outlined in gold with golden-' He paused as Ron's daughter spun around and heaved a huge book from the coffee table, her small hands dropped it into Harry's larger ones as he quickly held them out as she stumbled.

'This one?'

'Um…yes…Thank you Will.'

Her face scrunched at the nickname but she nodded, mouth opening when silence continued as Harry stared sightlessly at the large tome within his hands, body crouched on the carpet of the Library. 'Aunty 'Mione says your memory isn't good anymore, so sometimes you forget where you put things.' He blinked at her at this and nodded slowly, emerald eyes finding it hard to focus as he saw flashes of light suddenly cross his vision.

'Willow!'

Harry jerked with the little girl at a warning shriek, at least it sounded this way, from her Father as he came into the room, his own blue eyes staring at Harry's green. He stood to his feet, book in his hands and moved soundlessly around and out of the room, headed for his study once more; he spent most of his time there, in fact, he barely remembered leaving it properly for the last five years. Sure he worked, but most of his clients seemed to not need him to come to their homes, they brought their items to him to un-curse. This admittedly confused him to some degree, as he was sure that he himself had once left his house on a regular basis, he was after all, an Ancient Runes Specialist **and** Curse-Breaker.

'Harry?'

Harry ignored the enquiring voice as he set the book down on his desk and began to flick to the page he needed. 'Harry, mate, come eat something? You haven't eaten anything all day, when Hermione came to wake you up this morning you were already down here, in this study…'

'I do work, Ron.'

'I know…' He was leaning on the doorframe when Harry deigned to look up at his best friend; he wasn't sure if it meant anything or if it didn't, but most of the time he felt that something was being kept from him, as if his best friends had moved in with their families, after moving to France and Italy, to well, babysit him, as if he needed babysitting for some reason. He clutched the side of his head suddenly as sounds accompanied the flashes from earlier. 'Harry?!'

He shook the hand off, 'I'm fine.'

'Mate…'

'I'm fine, Ron!' He hadn't meant to snap, but he sighed as he did, eyes closing as his hand came down to the desktop and yellowed pages of the tome that sat there. 'I'm coming, I'll come eat something, just…give me a minute, okay?' He looked up, green eyes searching the blue for acceptance.

'Hahn…alright. Gab made dinner, and I mean dinner Harry. You really haven't eaten all day, we only left you in here because we thought you might call Winky or something to fetch you food…' He left then, sighing once more.

 **SMASH**

'Shit!'

'Harry!' Three different voices said this as he cursed himself for dropping his plate. Food scattered the tiles of the kitchen, intermingled with small and large pieces of porcelain. 'It's okay, just, sit down, I'll get it.' This was Hermione's voice and there were Ron's hands pressing him into a kitchen chair with the wide-eyed children that surrounded the marbled table.

'I can do it myself.'

'It's fine, we can handle it, just, eat this.' She handed him another plate of food and a juice of pumpkin, he thought, floated alongside it from Ron's wand. He sighed, frustrated, he was often frustrated these days—with everyone it seemed.

'I **can** do it myself. I'm not an invalid, why do you people insist that I am?' He crossed his arms and his legs beneath the table, pressing his back into the kitchen chair he'd been forced into. The children stared but he kept his green eyes resolutely on that of his friends, and one of their respective others. 'This is **my** house, **isn't** **it**?' 'I am 29, **aren't I**?' 'I do **possess** magic and a **wand** , **don't** **I**?' He withdrew said wand, placing it above the table for every eye to see. It sparked as he did so. 'Do I look like I can't control my own magic for some reason? Does it **look** like I can't take care of myself for some reason?' He narrowed his eyes as their eyes began to avoid his.

'Excuse me.' He stood from his chair, eyes still narrowed as he grabbed up his wand, took a gulp of the juice, flung his wand arm out toward the mess still to be cleaned on the floor—it was gone within two seconds and the plate Reparo'd and on the sink in another, and swept out of the kitchen, toward the fireplace.

'Harry!'

He flung himself into the fireplace as he heard their footfalls on the wooden floorboards-His mouth yelling the words into the grate below his feet that began to burn with green flames, his fingers dripping green powder into the fire. He was gone before their feet touched the large rug of his Floo Chamber.

 **He** was deposited on another rug, this one dark forest green and the floor beneath a chilling dungeon stone. 'Potter' He jerked himself up off the floor and brushed himself down of soot before he was soundlessly spelled by an ebony wand pointed at his chest.

'Sir' He mumbled.

'What do I owe the unfortunate pleasure?'

'Ron and Hermione…I suppose…'

The man's eyebrow rose as he pocketed his wand. 'Oh?'

Harry shrugged, 'And me I guess…' he held his arms out, straightened for the man to see that they were shaking. The thing was, that he didn't know why his limbs shook like this, at least, not completely, this man before him told him it was spell damage, but he hadn't expressed the **how** , and he wouldn't, no matter how many times Harry tried to ask the Professor of Potions.

He knew of the memory loss, but nobody expressed how that was either, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what he couldn't supposedly remember. Everything seemed…relatively the same…

'I see.' His long fingers grabbed at the limbs and held them, turning them slightly this way and then slightly the other way. 'Did they just start or have they been this way all day again?' He shook them when Harry said nothing. Mind elsewhere.

'Not all day.' He shook his raven head. 'I dropped a plate.' He shrugged at the raised eyebrow to this clarification, completely unnecessarily given. 'That's why we argued and I came here, besides, I don't have anything, you never give them to me.' He frowned. 'Why is that, Sir?'

He sighed, fingers tightening harshly around Harry's wrists. 'Because I do not trust you too not do something stupid with them.' Harry stared and his arms jerked, 'I do not trust you to not overdose them like you did with dreamless sleep recently.'

'…That wasn't intentionally…They were really bad dreams…'

Damn right they were, flashes of coloured lights, screams, yells and crashes.

'And you wound up in the Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, here, because nobody wants to see their saviour in St Mungo's, and none of us trust them, for the next two weeks in a magic induced coma. You will not be getting potions from me; you will come to me like you have been. Now sit down.' He pushed him toward the leather sofa before the fireplace. He disappeared for the next two minutes and only returned with a large box that he sat on the coffee table before Harry.

'Hold out your arms.' Harry did so, green eyes staring intensely.

'Sir?'

'Yes Potter.'

'Will you tell me?'

'Tell you what Mister Potter?'

'You know…why?'

'Why what, you are going to have to be more specific.'

Harry sighed, pressing his back into the soft and yet hardness of the sofa, arms still outstretched and clasped between his Ex-Professor's large hands.

'Why my arms shake like this?'

'I have already told you, Potter, it is spell damage.'

'But **why** do I have spell damage? **Why** don't I remember getting hexed?' His brows drew down when fingers around his own jerked, 'What aren't you guys telling me? Why do you all think that I can't take care of myself? Why must you believe that I can't handle whatever the truth is? I'm missing _,_ from what I gather, at least five years' worth of memories, yet one would believe if you were my friends, you'd tell me; I know it's **important** , what I can't remember, but you all think it's **more** important to keep me far away from remembering at all.' He frowned further at the apparent statue-like action of his former Professor—he'd frozen, fingers stuck above Harry's wrist with opalescent goop.

'You've always treated me different, sir, why is it so hard to treat me different now?' His voice was much quieter, emerald eyes intense behind his golden frames, though he remembered not when he'd gotten new frames, only that he had them and that they were very precious to him.

As his Study was—he felt **almost** at ease within it, but he felt a deep all-encompassing guilt as he worked within it.

As his huge Library was, with all the books within, though most he felt he'd never touched let alone read through with his own two eyes, he felt they were precious and that they needed to be well kept, so he did, he kept his library immaculate—There was a certain amount of unease he felt, in fact he felt the most uneasy when he was in the library, but something wouldn't let him ignore the space, in fact, it took him there at least three times a day. He would sit in the large sofa, feeling lonely as he read through a book that made no sense to him, his hands reverently touching the pages and stroking the covers as he would curl in on himself, ignorant of anyone else.

As his Garden was special, he felt equally at ease as he tended to a garden that felt as if it had never been his but that he should always keep tidy and bug free, well-watered but never taken from—his friends had wisely not done so and kept him to his own devices as he tended to the patch just outside the kitchen window.

He wouldn't call the space within the hallway outside his lonely room, special to him per sae, but it was something, something he couldn't stop himself from standing within before bed, or early in the morning. The space of wall something he couldn't stop himself from staring sightlessly at, like the children in his home from time to time, or that space on the bookshelf that he felt had never been empty before, or that other space atop the mantle of the fireplace.

At some point his thoughts had drifted, causing his body to jerk when Snape spoke quietly by his knees, hands still around Harry's wrists, his dark eyes were intense as he spoke it once more in the same way. 'I do not find it hard to treat you differently Harry, I fear that I treat you worse than your friends perhaps might be, from your perspective—I do not believe you are ready to be told the truth of your past, not right now, perhaps, yes, one day you will be, for now, this will have to do Potter.' He patted Harry's wrists and Harry let them fall back to his lap, eyes blinking behind frames as he swallowed a bit thicker than necessary. His heart ached suddenly.

'I apologise but this is the truth of the matter. You are not ready; you are neither physically nor mentally prepared for that truth, Potter. Now, you should be fine for a few days at the very least, if you continue the practice I showed you.' He tapped the placid fingers again, ignoring as Harry jerked. 'Go back to your friends Harry and apologise to them and their families for your behaviour earlier this evening, I do understand your frustration,' Harry glared dully 'to a certain extent, but you weren't very…you.'

…Very me? Harry mused as he stepped into the fireplace and travelled through twenty more before he was stepping out of his own and almost tripping over the maroon rug that covered half the only tiled floor in his entire house. He stared at the corner as he flipped it back over and straightened back up—it wasn't a very welcoming colour for a welcome carpet, was it? He glared at it without thinking before he angrily pointed his wand down at it and changed the colour to a soft blue.

'Harry?'

'Yeah, I'm…home…' He felt strange saying it, it wasn't anything unusual, but it didn't feel right to speak those words; yet he couldn't stop himself from saying them every time he came back from somewhere, which admittedly wasn't an everyday occurrence. Footsteps paused before the doorframe and he came face to face with Hermione and her sheepish face. 'I'm sorry.' He had to say it before her. Her mouth opened and closed before she smiled and nodded, 'As are we, Harry. Would you like something to eat or did you eat at Severus'?'

'I'd love something to eat. Are the kids okay?' He followed her sedately and relaxed as she nodded and began to list off his favourite foods, curious what he would like to eat he supposed, and drinks—there were a list of drinks too.

'I think that'd do fine 'Mione and I think I'll take a Scotch if it's alright?' He pointed to a spot in the sitting room that housed bookcases too, within; beside another vacant fireplace was a marble bench with a decanter and tumbler, the bottle half filled with rich amber liquid. She nodded as she slipped into the kitchen and he the sitting room.

'Snnf' 'Snnf' 'Snnf'

'Stop snivelling you good for nothing little-!'

'Don't! Not anywhere it can be visible, if you wish to punish the brat then do it with something that can't leave marks, or if you so must, then do it somewhere on his person that no one will see.'

'It isn't like he's ever out of this room.'

'Be that as it may, he will not be staying here forever, will he?'

'Why not, we could train him to kill his own rotten Father?' The voice was smirking as both feet moved a little closer, not that they hadn't already been too close before. 'He's already been here three years, he probably doesn't even remember them, do you, you snivelling little pest?' A large hand shoved and the small body fell backward on the thin mattress he'd been given upon first coming to this dank, dark place. He stayed still in this position as they looked down at him, their faces mere shadows, misted over by unshed tears at the corners of his eyes.

'The thought isn't an impossible one, but other plans have been set for him. Now do what you will, just remember my warning.' And there was a warning note to his voice as the bars grated back against the wall. As the footfalls left them together he shivered. This was bad. He didn't like this man—he didn't like any of them really, he had no reason too, perhaps even less reason to like this man as he was the one that constantly wanted to hit him, when all he would do was keep to himself and keep his mouth resolutely shut.

He may have been five, but he wasn't stupid.

This person, this place **screamed** dangerous.

'Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…ha…ha…haah…' He screamed and sobbed as his body was thrown into the wall from the strike it had just received; the leather left a slash in his already tatted shirt (he'd need a new one soon) and a burning sting in the flesh of his back, straight across his spine; he could feel the trickle of blood as he pressed himself further up against the cold, hard brick and bit his lip hard enough for it to distract from the pain that throbbed at his back.

'I don't see why we couldn't, how about I do it?' The mattress dipped, and the words whispered in his ear, ruffling his pale hair—he shivered. 'Say nothing about my next words and actions and I'll restrain myself as much as I can, so this...' The blood was shoved into his eyesight on two fingers. '…doesn't happen again, am I understood?' Confused but mildly relieved at the news, he nodded slowly, body trembling. 'I will bring you books, writing implements, clothes, and a light and you will work on reading and writing, you will make sure you read every last page and you will make sure you know every spell thereon; yes?' He was turned around and stared at intensely, he nodded still confused. 'Good. Goodnight.'

 **_**

'You belong to us now.'

'You will do everything we say.'

'And **I** say get up against that wall, you were supposed to do as I asked of you, you little brat, how dare you disobey me.' A thick black leather whip revealed itself in his blurred peripheral vision; it cracked twice on the lightly carpeted floor of his "room" and swung in an arc before it came down on his back three times. Two more cracks and a large hand spinning him around had another three swipes and blood pooling across his chest and his hand as he swung it up to protect the crystal that hung from his neck, beneath the thin white shirt. Normally the crisscross patterns were done by something else, with his body being held done on the bed, this was almost better, less painful, then those horrible times. It didn't however stop him from sobbing into his chest or the wall and crying out as he was struck several more times.

Just one chance, one small measly chance and he could use the spells he'd learnt in those big books, he could use those spells he'd taught himself to read, taught himself to write, and blast them all away. He had enough power now, he was seven after all.

 **_**

 **FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH! ! ! ! !**

The flashes spun across his vision, singeing his retinas with how bright they seemed to flare into the darkness, for he could see nothing but the brilliant deadly colours of the curses that came swinging toward him with deadly accuracy.

The words weren't spoken loudly and perhaps they weren't spoken at all, somehow though he could feel that the intent was to harm and harm hard, harm permanently, cast until you were sure he was down and down for good.

He knew not where he was, but the darkness felt familiar.

He heard himself scream, in fact he hadn't stopped hearing himself screaming, he'd long since been screaming before the flashes had begun.

'Please' he could hear himself say. 'Please, no.'

'Please...' He could hear himself sob the word as he felt himself fall to knees; feel the wiring of the spells barely missing his kneeled form, could feel as they zipped overhead and stung at his skin. 'Urg Gaaa Kah!' He could feel himself shudder and spit blood and saliva onto the ground below him.

He could feel his pulse thump against his chest as if trying to get out; could hear the crashes and bangs as things were destroyed as the men left and he could do nothing.

Harry screamed, or rather yelled as he sprang up from the armchair he'd apparently fallen asleep in, tumbler on the carpet tipped over with naught but a drop left within, he was breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room, his body trembling from head to toe, his damaged nerves not the least bit under control, when several people came skidding into the sitting room, jamming in the doorway briefly.

'Harry, are you alright?!'

'Mate!?'

'Harry?'

'Harry?'

'Oh dear, is everything alright?'

'My, that was some scream…'

'Cub are you alright?'

Harry sat, breathing heavily, ignoring the variations being spoken at him of his own name and in varying degrees of concern; it was a bit disconcerting that these people hadn't been here when he'd fallen asleep, so why were they now? Was it morning? His heart thudded against his ribcage with every shaky exhale; sweat beaded on his forehead and travelled down below his wrinkled shirt collar—he slumped down in the armchair as they came **into** the sitting room.

Every footstep was loud on the floorboards in Harry's ears, his eyes travelled around the room without really seeing those that were actually present, he kept hearing the shouted mumbles of words, the flashes of unmistakable spells wiring around him, through him, of his own arm flying out with his own screams.

'Harry?' Someone tried to shake him, but he flinched away from it and instead of coming to his feet he collapsed to the floorboards, his legs folding beneath him—they had become nothing but jelly. 'Harry!' He flailed as he blinded was helped to his feet and started to stumble around, having trouble making his limbs move beneath him enough to get him through the crowd and out of the room. His mind swirled, his eyes definitely seeing nothing but the colourful dangerous flashes of spells in his vision, his ears hearing nothing but the screams from his own throat and muffled voices of those that he was sure, had caused his nerve damage.

'Cub?'

The enquiring voice came close to shake him of this zombie-like attitude as he stumbled; hand pressed to the white-washed walls of his hallway, but atlas did nothing, he kept walking, ignorant that they all followed his movements.

His vision swamped in an instant as he came to the frame of the Library, his hand clenching around this in a death grasp, his fingernails made small scratching noises as they tried to grip even tighter, his mind whirling.

FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, "please" "please" "please, no"

'Should I get Madam Pomfrey or Snape or something?' He barely heard it.

"Please, don't, please…" FLASH, FLASH, FLASH.

'I think you should, dear.' He barely heard this either, or felt someone remove themselves from the crowd behind him. He stared sightlessly into the room, the flashes somehow becoming more pronounced against the emptiness he saw in his vision. His unoccupied hand clutched at the side of his head as he growled low, eyes closing quickly with the agony he felt consume his brain and punch his heart—his body even jerked backwards, his one hand on the doorframe keeping him standing. What had that other bit been? The one…with the…He clutched his head tighter and did his best to try and remember what that one had been about again; he growled and whimpered this time as hands fell to his shoulders and steered him over to his usual library sofa—words accompanied the strong hands.

'Calm yourself Potter.' Followed by a hand landing across Harry's levered up head, his green eyes now open wide, his hand flew to his cheek as, 'Get a hold of yourself' followed the abrupt slap.

'You hit me.' His voice came out shocked, and he was, he hadn't ever thought the man would hit him, if he hadn't physically harmed him (came close, sure) in school then he wouldn't hit him any other point in Harry's life no matter how he acted right? That had been his thought processes; apparently, they had been very wrong. Shocked gasps had sounded as Harry now pouted in a hurt way, his glasses crooked on his nose as he pressed cold tipped fingers to his stinging cheek.

'How very observant of you, Potter, that I did-are you at least back to some semblance of normal?' The man sighed as he crossed his arms over his waistcoat, dark eyes closing as Harry's pout became more pronounced. 'Don't be a baby, Potter, I barely touched you.' His crossed hand, on his bicep waved dismissively.

'It hurt.' He blinked back stinging tears as he fixed his crooked frames.

'Did it, and what of your head?' He asked tone clearly sarcastic but with a hint of morbid curiosity mixed in for good measure.

Harry's raven birds nest inclined three times in succession, fingers still massaging the stinging skin. 'My head?' he questioned, perplexed as his green eyes came back to rest on the elder man and only the elder man; mind still not processing really that others occupied the library now.

'Yes.' Snape inclined his head.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean your head you imbecile, you were clutching it? Did you hit it?'

'No…' He shook his head slightly.

'Something to do with wandering from the sitting room in a state of Zombie?'

'…Probably.' His lips quirked from the words slightly, his body pressing into the softness of the sofa he was slouched within; he pressed his shaking limbs into the armrests, trying to quell the nerves before Snape noticed those too.

'Did you have a nightmare?' The dark eyes flicked to his arms before coming back to his face and staring intensely into the green depths.

'Probably…' He avoided the dark eyes and looked around the Library instead.

'Potter' He growled, clearly becoming less patient. 'I was in the middle of brewing for Madam Pomfrey's Infirmary, so please, enlighten me about your condition so I can get back to my work.' His stance didn't change, not even as Harry's shifted within the softness of the couch and he pushed his legs up to his chest, arms crossing over them.

'I don't like this room…' He mumbled. He felt he now knew half the reason why.

'What?'

He flinched slightly at the way in which the man practically spat the word. 'I don't like this room very much, sir' he reiterated, head barely moving from its shifted spot on his knees, to look up into the sallow face. 'Can we go somewhere else?'

'This room is fine, what would make you suddenly feel this way; from what I hear Potter you are in here at least three times a day.'

'That doesn't mean I like this room, sir.' He shook his head slowly across his knees.

'Whatever does that mean?' His patience seemed to be coming even less as the seconds ticked by, his black eyes sparked as he spoke and his stance shifted in a way that described his annoyance.

'It means I don't like this room.' Harry sighed in frustration; body shifting once more to slam his feet down onto the floorboards. His eyes moved again around the library as he stood to his feet, wobbled slightly and flinched away from the hand that came out to steady him; he stared at Snape. 'I haven't liked this **room in years** , sir, but I come in here because I **can't** avoid it, when I try I want to cry.' He ground his teeth together as he said this. 'I want to hit something when I come in this room, I want to blame myself when I come in this room; though I don't know what for, I think I'm beginning to understand, I get the same feeling of guilt when I'm in my study, but I go there because it's my space, it's my work space, I think it makes me feel better.'

'What do you mean you are beginning to understand?' This as it turned out was one of his best friends, clutching at her breast, arms crossed over them and clinging, an extremely worried look on her tanned features. His green eyes stared at her, hearing not picking up the words until a few seconds after she'd spoken them.

'I think I need to go outside' he ignored the incredulous looks and the "what's" that followed the mumbled and yet determined words.

'I need to go outside ' he sighed once more, heavily moving himself in that direction before hands slammed themselves on his shoulders and pushed him back down in the sofa he'd just vacated.

'You will be going nowhere boy, not until we are sure you didn't damage yourself.'

'I think I'm already damaged…' He whispered to his hands within his lap, clenching and unclenching them.

'You are no such thing, Harry.' Snape kneeled before him, potion stained fingers coming to lay on Harry's pale ones. 'What was in this dream you had just now?' His voice was perhaps the gentlest Harry had ever heard it, but tinged with concern, and he stared suspiciously down at him.

'Does it matter? It was a dream.'

'Spill it Potter.'

'I saw spells.' He continued to whisper. 'I saw flashes coming at me, whirring around me in darkness; it was all I could see, the power, the colours, green curses. I heard their mumbles but not their voices, or what they were casting at me; I heard my screams, sir. It isn't the first time either; it's just…more…'

There was a heavy breath by his knee. He looked up to the ceiling, fingers twitching beneath the elder mans'. 'I saw another, another dream, but I'm not sure it was exactly **my** dream or a dream at all…' He puffed out a breath, 'but I can't remember it, what do you supposed it was, Sir...My past?'

He wasn't expecting the 'Perhaps' that came from the thin lips or the tightening of fingers around his own as he sharply looked down. 'What?' He spat in shock.

'I said perhaps Mister Potter, indeed your first "dream" was not in fact a dream but your semiconscious mind bringing fractions of memories long forgotten to the fore…I believe you were seeing, _I hope you were just seeing_ , the day you were cursed and sustained nerve damage throughout your body.' His eyes flicked to different places and somewhere to the left of Harry's face as Harry kept his eyes locked on the man's sallow face, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he heard the whispered words that hadn't been whispered enough, 'As for this one you cannot remember, I cannot tell you, as you, yourself, don't know what it is you saw, do you?' Harry shook his head slowly, frown marring his forehead. No, he didn't know. But he should, shouldn't he?

His fingers started to tingle and it was only then that he realised the man was secretly using that spell, the spell that he said he would only use if Harry's shakes became extremely bad. He winced that it had come to this and threw his head back to the backrest with a frustrated growl escaping his parted lips.

There was just so much he didn't remember and yet, no one was trying to help him remember and in fact were making sure he didn't, and there was just so much that made his mind confused, because, barely anything was different; he knew his personality was slightly altered, he could feel this, but everything around him, it was just so hard to tell what was missing and what was always meant to be there.


	3. Chapter 2

He stood before them, in the middle of the room in his thin white shirt that fell to his hips, with the cords at his collar partially open and laying across his chest, his dark green overcoat hanging by his thighs and laying open by his sides, his dark (almost black) green jeans sitting atop his black trainers with the leather on the top with the green ribbons that were laces, and his hair brushed back in something relatively manageable; clips held his fringe away from his eyes, eyes that were the colour of jewels.

'Well, you look almost handsome, don't cha?' a hand pressed to his cheek, making his head just barely turn away from it with his eyes closing; he thankfully held back the noise that his throat wanted to make from the contact.

'Today you do as we want you too, today you stay in another home, and within the week you fell it to the ground, is that understood? Within the month you'll kill him, yes?' The voice grew dangerous, quieter as their face came closer, their breath breezing across his pale face, and his dark brown eyes intensely peering into his jewels.

'Do you understand me?' He pressed and his head moved the merest inch in the affirmative, he didn't speak, he never spoke, letting them believe that perhaps he couldn't, or was merely keeping his voice so as to do the spell better, and no one could catch him by voice recognition; not that this would be possible if no one were left alive. 'Excellent.' He whispered, his fingers caressing his cheek once more before the man was moving around his body and pushing him toward the door of the small bedroom. 'Don't forget your bag now.' He pushed the leather onto his shoulders, making sure it was secure as they left the room and travelled down the corridor—it was the first time he'd ever been outside that small space. His space, his mind supplied reluctantly.

'Does he have everything necessary?' There was a nod above him and to his left. 'Good.' Another face lowered to his and he stared silently at it as it began to smirk, normally this type of smirk would cause him a small shiver but he knew it wasn't aimed at him this time. 'You're a good boy aren't you?' he didn't move. 'Aren't you? You do as you're told don't you? You're a good boy, aren't you?' a hand pressed to his head and pushed until he grunted and nodded under the weight. 'Yes, you are.' He stood back up, 'There is a car outside waiting for you, there is also a driver, you are not to step out of the vehicle, and is that understood?' They never said their names in front of him and he ground his teeth, a little frustrated.

'Yes Boss. Come on brat.' The hand returned to his shoulder blades and pushed until he was moving his trainers down the hallway before the man that wanted him to murder hundreds, to murder his own "rotten Father"—he couldn't do that, he couldn't kill hundreds. But he was still at a loss as to what to do to prevent such a likelihood coming to pass.

-

The car, a black muggle mob-style (He read many different books now), took them through streets unknown and through small market streets until they were stationary, a soft hum under his bottom in the backseat, before a large black gate, a large building with a plaque in silver and black lettering proclaiming it an Orphanage. He sighed quietly, nothing but a small puff of air flowing into the backseat; he'd known it had to be something like this.

But why they wanted all these innocent people murdered was beyond him.

'Out you get brat, and make sure you do what you're supposed too; you don't want someone visiting you in the middle of the night and disciplining you do you?' There was a glint in the man's eyes that he was sure meant nothing but agony, so he nodded reluctantly; mind whirring through everything he'd learnt in his supplied books, trying to figure out what he could do to prevent both circumstances from coming to pass, as he stepped out of the car, bag on his shoulders, documents in hand.

 **Knock Knock**

He waited patiently, foot barely tapping on the step before the large wooden doors with the brass doorknocker in the middle; it was much higher than he, so he had no choice but to knock on the wood. This place looked well supplied, obviously well maintained and probably had a fair few, or just one very rich family as their benefactor.

When nothing happened for several minutes he frowned and knocked a second time, hefting his pack further on his shoulders as he saw a curtain shift to his right in his peripheral vision.

'Yes…' The voice lowered as the head did when no one appeared to be in their sights. '…Child?' They sounded surprised and it only became more so as he shifted the papers and held them out for the Matron to take. As she shifted through them, hands just barely shaking at the shock he supposed of a child coming to their doors by himself and handing over fake papers-He assumed they were forged, what would kidnappers be able to get? They couldn't very well sneak into the Ministry and take his birth papers could they?

Her eyes flicked through the yellowed pages and he began to put his practise into, well, practice as it were, his eyes began to shimmer as she looked over the papers and his body began to shake the best he could make it as he began to sniffle; a tear slipping down his pale face as he hiccoughed.

'Oh dear, you poor thing; how awful your guardians must be. Come, come, in you get child, everything will be alright now. There, there.' She patted him on the shoulder as she walked him into the large entrance hall. They paused briefly as someone came into the room and the two women began to speak between themselves; he kept the act up, sniffling into his chest—ears listening to them and any he could pick up beyond the doors to their right.

'How dreadful, to think, for such high society to be dropping him on our doorstep, to give the papers himself no less.' The words shifted to accommodate him, 'you poor dear, I think I'll go fetch you some warm milk and cookies; would that be nice?' He sniffled as she bent down to his eyelevel, and he took in a large racking sob to put more stock in his acting. She was quick to pull a handkerchief from her coat pocket at this with a tutting sound and brush it against his moist cheeks and nose, 'blow dear' she spoke kindly, keeping it in place. He almost had to hold in real tears from this action as it sparked something inside him; he'd never had anyone do so for him, he'd never had anyone do anything for him except give him books for their own ends, and cause him no end of pain when they wished. He blew as a mingled tear slipped from one of his eyes, dripping into the pink poke-a-dotted hanky. 'I'm Lulu, I'm one of the staff, and mostly I take care of the younger children.' She waved a hand toward the doors to their right. 'It said you were seven now?' He nodded quietly, gripping at his shirt hem. She nodded slowly, eyes moistening.

'Madam Lucia would it be any trouble if young…uh…'

'…A…' He supplied quietly.

'Oh, um…Alright sweet heart, would it be any trouble if young…A…could stay with the younger boys for his early days here? Just to settle in a bit of course.'

'He may, but I would like to have him take a medical before I send him anywhere Miss Lu.'

'Oh yes, of course.' She smiled once more with a polite nod and aimed words back down at him, 'well, follow Madam Lucia, she's one of our Matron's, I'm sure it won't take much time at all and you can get to know some of the younger children.'

She patted his shoulder, 'Go on dear' pushing him in the elder woman's direction.

_

He was reluctant to do what the woman wished, "sit here", "put your bag over there first", "take your coat and shirt off please", "sit further forward on the bench please", "turn around please", he was reluctant to do all these because she was giving him a physical; his body wasn't like others, it didn't react in the way Muggle's would to Muggle medicines and he had scars he didn't want others to see.

When he further refused to acknowledge her requests, she prodded him with her finger, positioned him herself on the bench and then stuck something metal against his covered chest, his back, stuck something metal in his mouth and pressed something yet colder against his ear and shone a torch into his face—he flinched at this last one, his eyes were sensitive to light, so he'd learnt the hard way; when one is locked inside a dark room (his only source of light the wall sconces) for the "better" part of their lives and then are shoved unceremoniously outside into the sun, well, the sun had almost blinded him earlier.

When she proclaimed him fit, he almost sighed with relief—she walked him first to the elder children's dormitory on the second level (to place his backpack) and then back down to what apparently was the living room, or their "common room", most of the younger children had this room as the older ones had the backyard and the other "common room".

He stared from just within the doorway at all the children within; one of them must have been the one he'd seen poking through the curtains earlier when he'd knocked on the doors.

He sat in a corner as the Matron left the room, her own eyes scanning the miscreants', and started to draw patterns into the woolly carpet beneath him, with his finger. What he drew were runes he'd seen in the various books he'd been gifted. They were protection runes, he didn't feel like this was such a bad place, and the kids certainly didn't look guilty of any crimes. He hoped his whim didn't become dangerous.

The rune sparked on the floor just as he was spoken too. 'Ello my name is Oz, what's yours?' It was another boy, only this boy looked half his own height, had chocolate brown curls, pale skin, amber jewelled eyes and seemed to be wearing blue overalls, a white collared shirt and silver clasps. He was smiling inanely.

He made sure the rune wasn't alight before shifting to properly face the smaller boy. 'A.'

'Ay?'

He nodded his white strands once.

-

 _This could be bad._

 _Very bad._

'Hey pretty boy, where's your mum and dad, abandon you did they?'

He kept his mouth resolutely shut, the truth of that, that they hadn't.

'Why don't you go beg them back, like a good little aristocratic puppy?'

He clenched his mouth tighter shut; he made up his mind, he didn't want to hurt these people but these few weren't nice, in fact, he wasn't the only one they picked on; it seemed they had been there for a few years already and believed that they ran it below the Matron's. Bossing other children around inside and out, taking lunches, breakfasts and dinners- taking possessions that were precious to the other Orphans.

He was sticking up for someone even, taking the brunt of the abuse for the hundredth time; perhaps he should stop doing this? Stop sticking up for the five year old that followed him from the moment he'd said 'A'. But how could he avoid such abuse? The kid was five. Five.

 _This is so bad. This is so very bad._

He still hadn't thought of a way to protect this place, sure he'd made up his mind, but that held little sway, and in fact he'd already been punished several times during midnights. His back protested from a shove as he thought this, wincing slightly as the skin split.

It was so hard to avoid the things he was asked to do, if he didn't know how too. He'd already done some seriously bad things after that first disciplinary action—He was sure they had all been innocents.

His fists clenched as the five year old was pushed by one of the other boys behind the one spouting insults into his face; the boys' lackeys. They were at least three years older than he. 

-

Harry seemed to blank out the next month or so, brain focused on his jobs for his "employers", his clients, body concentrated on doing what it needed to do rather than trying to get his friends to tell him something they never will.

He put up with all the nightmares, put up with his friends telling him to eat and having them hide his stash of alcohol on more than one occasion (at least he had the one in his study that they couldn't touch—only he could allow them inside now) and put up with Snape constantly on his heels every second day telling him to get a hold of himself, take his medicines, balms, spells and pestering him to tell him about those nightmares he was plagued with every night.

He sighed as he scrubbed at the side of his face, left hand coming up and tipping the rim of a glass tumbler filled with three pieces of ice and amber liquor to his parted lips. His eyes kept their focus on the big tome before him on the oak desk, the yellowed pages that had faded scribblings of runes and descriptions.

From time to time he could hear the children running around the hallways and shifting the TV from low volume too high and through several hundred channels; it seemed one of them, or perhaps one of the adults had shifted the remote to their own hands and had left it on the Muggle news.

 _'Such crimes we are having lately, first the markets on the Thames, then the jewellers with those thieves and the poor broker behind the counter; Scotland Yard are still trying to find the diamond so if anyone knows anything about it, they are encouraged to contact them at the station or by this number on the bottom of the screen. And that horrible gas explosion down in the Underground and the mass killing in Green Park last Thursday; someone could almost say we've been cursed, couldn't they? Alas, this comes in number one this week; Scotland Yard are also going to be conducting an investigation as to why such a structurally sound building would suddenly come crashing down to the ground killing almost 400 children and 20 odd staff carers.'_

He tilted his head as his ears tuned into the TV and tilted the glass away from his lips—just a centre meter mind; there was still alcohol within, he was mindful not to tilt it enough to spill it on the ancient textbook.

' _We are happy to report however from the crime scene, our permissions from Scotland Yard and the medical staff, that Ten children have survived the crumbling walls of this mansion, a few scrapes and bruises and some future PTS, that's Post Traumatic Stress, but alive and well, they cannot be with us as of now because they are being as we speak taken to another Orphanage within the state—Ah, ….'_

Harry flung himself from his chair—it toppled as he skidded from the room, slamming his study door behind him with one hand and sliding across the floorboards to the sitting room, where he was sure it was coming from; the woman's voice had been mumbled by the end there. He stood, breathing heavily, leaning on the doorframe of the space and peering inside to notice that one of the children had confiscated the remote from their parents and had turned the volume down and was about to turn it over; he ran across the room, snatching the remote and turning it back up, ignorant of the startled voice **and** looks.

' _If anyone would like to help these children—as they are without parents, along with their names here are some pictures.'_ The reporter looked uncomfortable as the pictures quickly overrode her features; her hands below the screen seemed to be flailing wildly; perhaps she was not allowed to do this? Harry stared at the children's pictures. He wasn't sure why it mattered so much, but after hearing the lady's ramblings about recent events, it didn't seem likely that this had been within muggle means; something magical caused these incidents, or at least this latest one. Something planned out. It felt important to him; he slid across the sofa as small hands reached for the remote gripped within his hands.

'Harry what has gotten into you, can you please give Lil'ra the remote.' She sounded annoyed and a little angry as he avoided her hands reaching as well, head tilting to see around her when she obstructed his view of the television set. He didn't actually remember having one of these; perhaps he didn't?

There. His eyes widened behind his golden frames. 'Scamander' he whispered.

'What?'

He pointed around her, 'Scamander, I vaguely remember reading a daily prophet article proclaiming something about the demise of the Great Newt Scamander's grandson and his wife, ah, and their eldest son in some freak accident…They had a younger son that went to his maternal grandparents right?'

Hermione nodded slowly, turning partially to see the picture being displayed on the large screen. 'They passed away not long after that accident though, so he had nowhere to go, I didn't realise their son had gone to an Orphanage.'

'Not just any, Hermione.' He whispered. 'A muggle Orphanage; that doesn't just happen does it? Magical children aren't just put into Muggle Orphanages or houses or whatever if they are known already, are they?' He narrowed his eyes as the picture shifted from the milky skinned, chocolate haired, amber eyed five year old to an older child that in this picture actually had the younger clinging to his bloodied clothes, his jewelled eyes were hard but dulled as his cheeks were tainted pink and his arms and forehead covered in scratches; his hair was limp and dirtied but you could clearly see that it was silvery white, and his skin like smooth porcelain.

Harry clutched at his head, dropping the remote in his lap as both hands came up and clung into his dark strands of raven. 'Nn!'

'Harry!?'

 **There was crying, pain filled crying—it came from the front yard. His feet carried him toward the sounds and the mumbles of comfort that he could hear from a wispy womanly voice.**

 **His eyes alighted on the scene, two sets of silvery white hair, porcelain skinned and both relatively covered in dirt, the younger had cuts on his face and arms; as if something had flung out; clawing at him. He heard a hissing from the back of her garden.**

' **Harry!?** ' a hand shook his shoulder as he scrunched his eyes, the pain clearly evident on his features—his fingers clutched raven strands, making his mop even wilder than it was normally.

FLASH, FLASH, FLASH! "Please, please, I beg you, please." He sobbed.

There was maniacal laughter as his limbs jerked and he heard the screams from far out, far down the street, the crying began to taunt him as he fell forward and pushed his face into the bloodied mess before him, the silvery strands that sat by his fingers.

"It's all my fault. It's all my fault. IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

He came back to himself screaming, "ALL MY FAULT!" and not just Hermione but Ron and Snape standing over him, Lil'ra had apparently been taken elsewhere as he thrashed on the sofa. "It's my fault." He whispered, green eyes locking onto Snape's black ones that looked pained as he heard this. Harry flung himself onto his feet, avoided the hands trying to steady him here and rushed from the room, eyes taking in every single uncovered space, every space he was sure had once held something; so where were those things?

He ignored the shouts following him up the stairs, the footfalls that followed him up them, or the voice that tried to get him to stop as he began to ransack his bedroom, eyes unfocused; he threw open his bedside drawers and upturned the draws on the light blue duvet, the contents falling to the silken material.

'Potter stop.'

His fingers froze on the rough wood as his eyes scanned the scattered items;  
an empty picture frame, the wood cracked on one side.  
A half empty bottle of lubricant, he flushed a bit at this; he hadn't thought of it.  
Mismatched buttons, that looked like they had once been attached too something.  
Quidditch through the Ages and the Quibbler—he frowned at this, an ache in his eye.  
A play wizard magazine, which he flushed at once again; hands twitching.

His eyes flickered twice, the skin at the corners scrunching in confusion and pain; there were three more items on the duvet, three items that didn't make sense to him and one that made the Potions Master that was at his doorframe, hands clenched on either side of the framework, to gasp before he could cover it with a hasty hand.

A baby naming book, a parenting book and a pacifier; to think he really hadn't opened these beside tables in five years, he was beyond puzzled why he wouldn't; but then, he hadn't really had any need too, and he really hadn't thought of sex in the last five years at all; it hadn't bothered him at all. It began to bother him now though, he turned, green eyes briefly locking with the elder man before he threw open his wardrobe, hands clutching the varnished wood.

'Potter'

Scanning the contents quickly, clothes, shoes, more clothes, he ignored that he could use magic and stood on tiptoe, hands roaming blindly over the top most shelf; it hit something, something that wasn't actually there; he growled.

'Potter, think about this.'

The man's surprisingly gruff voice was tinged with desperation, Harry felt, but his body didn't move from the doorframe as Harry grabbed at the invisible space; pulling it from the shelf with a lot of force and a small groan of effort—it was heavy.

'Harry, please think about this.'

He jerked at the soft plea from his Ex-Professor, hands frozen over where he felt the opening might have been; then he moved, wand coming out of his pocket and pointing at the unseen box—He had felt glamour's before, when he'd opened his wardrobe but had never really put that and his memories into one category, they were some serious glamour's; they'd really thought this through.

He shifted on his knees, and began to chant below his breath every glamour spell he knew, even the most obscure ones.

He had to wonder briefly as he did this, where his friends had gotten too; why was it that only Snape had followed him up those stairs to his bedroom door? Why was he the only one trying to, well, he **wasn't** , trying to stop him was he? He was only…pleading he didn't open the box. What was in this box, this chest rather (it was beginning to appear) that was so bad?

He shook himself, focusing on the chanting.

' _You idiot_ ' hands clenched as Harry heard these barely whispered words, undoubtedly aimed at him. The polished chest, it's colour that of black oak, finally shimmered into being before him; fingers fiddled with the large brass locks that adorned the outer edges, he turned his head in the elder man's direction. He stared sightlessly, but determinedly. Someone had a key, now who was it going to be?

He stared until the man sighed, rubbing at his temples. 'Very well…I did warn you' Stepping into the room, a chill fell over Harry; was he really going to find something? After five years of finding nothing amiss, feeling nothing but guilt and suspicion, was he really going to find it? His breath came in short bursts, shaky exhales puffing into the atmosphere as the Professor dug inside his dark blue waistcoat. 'I've been warning you for five years, but being a Potter, of course you wouldn't listen, and as if you would listen to them when you don't speak to them.' He grouched the words as he thrust a golden key down at Harry.

The raven haired twenty-nine year old Cursebreaker sat on knees before a red chest of wood, hands shaking as he turned a golden key within a brass lock—it clicked as it turned one more notch. He shuddered, body moving with the full body tremble as he lifted the lid, letting it hit the other side of the box. Within, were his memories right?


	4. Chapter 3

Picture frames. Most of it was picture frames with photographs within, twirling adults in dress robes, laughing teenagers dressed in casual attire, a celebratory photograph when the war had been won—he frowned at this, why was this locked away? A flash of silver swept across his vision. His hands clenched on the wood as he dug further inside, pulling the items out as he went, right now he was surrounded by wizarding photographs in wooden frames—they were all absolutely silent, and half of them were encrusted with dried blood; something with which his heart and head ached for, his eyes stinging.

'Potter, take it easy, do it slowly.'

He barely heard the soft words beside him, standing over him as he lifted from within a toy, it was woollen, almost homemade, it was barely the length of his inner forearm with the flopping ears swinging over his trembling fingers as he grasped it around the middle; it's eyes were the same as the mismatched buttons on his bed—had he perhaps sewed these on? Or had someone else? It felt…familiar to hold this clearly child related plushie. He clutched it harshly, eyes scrunching closed behind his frames. 'Nn!' He threw his head down, hands bringing the toy up to his chest.

'Easy' a hand fell to his shoulder; he didn't move from it.

The hand on his shoulder clenched as he breathed heavily, 'Toitoi' he whispered, his voice cracking.

'What?'

'This…' he shook it roughly. 'It's Toitoi.' The man let out a heavy breath but said nothing as Harry's unoccupied hand once again rummaged through the contents of the trunk. Everything was silent for several minutes with Harry's pained groans and clutches interspersing the silence. He knew not how long he looked unfocused at the items. 'You hid these…didn't you?' His head was lowered at them, as his lips moved barely more than a whisper.

'Yes.'

'Why, why would you do this and not tell me? Why would I forget this? How could I forget this?' His fingers clenched around the toy and a crystal necklace that was the colour of emeralds. Tears were on his cheeks and had been for however long he had been seated on the floor, memories assaulting him.

'It isn't that easy…'

'Try me, sir.' He growled.

He sighed, 'I did it because you asked.'

'I…I **asked**?' His head flew up, eyes red-rimmed and glassy.

'Yes.' He was staring down at him with a pained expression. 'You screamed into my fireplace, Harry, you were a mess…' he scrubbed at his face, obviously reluctant, 'when I came through the fireplace…you barely registered I was there, you mumbled words at me, "clean this, please", "all of it, everything, just…please", you were broken Potter.' His voice became gruff and he cleared it as Harry felt another pain-filled memory coming on.

He bowed forward, items in his hands digging into his palms as his eyes locked closed, forehead scrunched in agony-

He'd been at work, everything had been normal, perfectly difficult for what his job entailed; he'd gone to some clients house, something to do with a cursed artefact they'd just brought home trying to kill them in their dining room; he was a Cursebreaker, so he'd gone—nothing had seemed unusual about the request.

Then he'd gotten there and he'd been assaulted, it had been a trap, orchestrated by escaped Death Eaters. They'd been watching him, bidding their time.

They'd found it. They'd gone for it. He hadn't gotten home in time…

'That's enough Potter; Harry stop.' Hands clenched over his, he hadn't known they'd been moving over his forearms; he was sobbing, hard, whispering words he knew he'd choked to Snape before.

'I…Luna…I…my son…' He turned into the chest by his shoulder, pressing his face into the soft material of the man's waistcoat. His entire body was trembling, hands clutched in the elder man's clothes. The man's hair splayed across his own, his breath whispering over Harry's raven strands as he breathed shallowly; Harry could hear the man's heartbeat, it wasn't calm, in fact, it was almost beating to the same tempo Harry's was. He looked down and around briefly, emerald orbs flickering over the scratches he'd just made; no perhaps he wasn't mentally prepared for this, but that didn't matter, he'd opened a treasure trove of memories, he couldn't close it now and walk away from it. 'Is there more? ' he murmured.

'Potter…' His breath puffed across his head again, the beat jumping beneath Harry's cheek; there was.

'Are there other boxes?'

'… .'

There were, Harry nodded slowly, extracting himself from the embrace. Strangely his body remembered being in a similar embrace before; perhaps that's why it didn't feel so strange to hug his former Professor? As if the man would rip his head off; perhaps he'd collapsed into the man when it'd happened?

'Show me' He stood abruptly; causing the man to jerk and rise slowly himself with the same jerkiness as Harry stepped forcefully passed him, left hand clutching an emerald crystal, the right clutching the bunny. 'You know, sir' he spoke matter-a- factually, 'I always wondered what this was' he dug inside his shirt and withdrew a bluish crystal on a thin piece of chain, by no means small though. 'I could never bring myself to take it off, even knowing I had no clue where it came from.' He stepped further down the hallway and stood before the space of wall, figuring this was where the rest were—there was something behind here. 'We exchanged them on our wedding night.'

'Please think about this Potter, this is serious.'

'I know.' 'Now, open it' he growled, turning on the spot and glaring.

'Potter'

' **OPEN IT'** He screamed, taking a threatening step forwards.

'Very—'

' _Scotland Yard would like to make it clear now that they conducted questioning with the surviving children, to see if they have any ideas; it seems some believe that this white haired boy did this, and what would you say child?'_ Snape froze, pausing mid-step forward and speaking, Harry paused at the loud voice of the Reporter coming back to the TV.

The child sounded reluctant to his ears, _'The Nargles did it.'_

' _The Nar—what?'_ The reporter seemed thunderstruck and the next instant Harry clutched his head once more; the TV being abruptly turned off.

'Potter!'

'I'm fine.' He whimpered, 'Nargles.' He laughed, 'Of course. It wasn't him, it was **him**. He's not going to another Orphanage; he's being picked up and taken to St. Mungo's. Sir, get out of my way.' He stood up from a doubled over position, wand at the elder man's ribcage. 


	5. Chapter 4

Dressed in the darkest green cloak, hood over his head as he came in from the Muggle street, he kept it over his messy raven strands until he was standing before the receptionist; he was reluctant to remove it even then. 'Can I help you sir?' She stared at him suspiciously though, so he didn't much have a choice; when it fell to his shoulders he pushed his fringe slightly back from his face with a casual gesture.

'Yes Ma'am you can. I wish to see the child that was brought here recently; he's probably saying something along the lines of Nargles? Or perhaps he hasn't spoken at all; his hair is white, his skin the same and his eyes are **exactly** the same as mine.'

'Oh. Um, yes, of course Mister Potter, sir, you should find the lad down the hallway to your left and down the first right you see; it'll be at the end of that hallway.'

'Thank you' He smiled politely and slipped from the room with little to no fuss.

When he reached the hallway that he wanted, he paused before the metal doors and stared at the plaque—the words written in cursive—as he took a large shaky inhale and exhale. He stepped in, limbs trembling, even fisting them at his sides did nothing to quell them; well of course it wouldn't, he reprimanded himself as he stepped further into the room; it was something of a common room for admitted children. He hoped his face wasn't as blotchy as it felt.

Several were in the corner playing a Wizard's Chess Game. Another few were playing a muffled Exploding Snap Game and yet fewer were in the middle of the room watching something fly across the screen on one of the new WizardScreen Sets. He stepped quietly in another corner where one child sat, huddled in on himself, cleaner then when he had seen his picture on the TV.

He wore denim jeans, a white collared shirt, pink socks and a baby blue jumper; the hood held ears of some kind, but Harry ignored this, stepping closer as he cleared his throat. 'Ahem'

The boy's body jerked but it didn't do more than that.

He tried again and once more until the boy's head rose and his similar eyes turned huge for a split second, his lips soundlessly moving around words as he crawled himself to his feet, using the wall as leverage. 'Wrackspurts'

Harry's body took a step back, 'What?'

'Wrackspurts…' he mumbled, 'they're an invisible species unless you have the right eyewear… ('Spectraspecs' Harry murmured, feeling puzzled)…they float around your head and make your brain go fuzzy…I thought I felt one zoom around in here.'

( **It's him, he found me, they were right, they were really right** )

Harry frowned yet more puzzled, 'Why are you telling me this?'

'I didn't do it.' ( **Though he did, and many other sinful things** )

'I never said you did, but if you did then it was by accident; perhaps somebody within the mansion was mean to you, so you lashed out, or rather your magic?'

The boy seemed to shrink back against the wall as Harry said this, 'You seem aware of magic, no muggle would know what a Nargle let alone a Wrackspurt is; in fact most wizarding folk believe they do not exist.'

'They do.' His voice almost seemed desperate to be believed. Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he stood before the child, emerald eyes intense.

'What's your name?'

'What?'

'I said, what is your name?'

'…Why do you want to know my name, who are you?' He swallowed.

'My name is Harry. Now, what is yours?' He felt so nervous; it was strange.

There was a second in which the boy's entire body froze, jewel eyes closing in something like agony. 'But **who** are you, why do you want to know my name? Are you with the Ministry or something? Are you going to charge me?'

'Charge you for what?' He felt mildly amused.

'For murder?' His forehead wrinkled.

'For Murder, are you serious? Not even a Ministry Official would come to charge you for accidental magic. I don't work with the Ministry; well not unless they want me for something specific, it hasn't happened so far…I'm a Freelance Cursebreaker.'

'…Then why?'

'Because I think…' Harry clutched at his head, groaning lowly.

The white head tilted, fists clenched against his thighs. 'My name is…A'

'Ay?' Harry tipped his own head in confusion; he didn't believe that was right. The head nodded though, 'very well, how would you like to leave this hospital?' The jewel eyes travelled up to meet his properly for the first time. 'I feel I should take you with me, back to my home; would you like that?' He knew it sounded strange and more than a little…well…He was a stranger right?

'Yes.' ( **What else could he say?)**

'What?'

'Yes, I'll go with you; I'm…I was in an Orphanage anyway…' ( **For no other reason than to fell innocents, and you fell for it; you idiot** )

'Right…' Harry swallowed, 'Alright, nice.'

 **_**

'Uh this is…' They'd just come through the Fireplace in the Floo Chamber, with the blue rug that he had spelled last month, to come face to face with several angry and concerned faces; their mouths and eyes widened however upon seeing them.

'Ay.' The blonde supplied hastily, hands within his jeans pockets. 'I'm Ay.'

'Potter…' It was Snape, his black eyes locked to the similar coloured orbs. 'Potter can I have a word with you in the hallway.' Harry frowned, 'why?'

'Because I believe it would be in your best interest.' He came forward and grabbed him about the wrist, forcefully removing him from the chamber and into the darkened hallway; the lights dulled for some reason.

'What?' Harry growled, shaking his wrist free.

'What the hell do you think you are doing, Harry, bringing an Orphan into your home; You can't just do that Potter, you need to file papers and…You aren't mentally prepared to raise children, you aren't parent material right now Potter. Think about this, why are you bringing someone that is believed to have slaughtered hundreds, even accidentally into your home? Is it because he looks like him?'

Harry avoided the dark eyes as the last sentence hit him in the gut. 'So what if he does?'

'Potter' it was reprimanding. 'He isn't.'

'How do you know? He could have been taken to a Muggle Orphanage.'

'Do you honestly believe…' He sighed, rubbing at his temples. 'Fine, do as you wish.' He waved toward the doorframe to the chamber, where they could hear lowered voices; obviously his friends were talking amongst themselves as well. 'But you do not come crying to me, do you understand?'

He nodded slightly, eyes angled to the floor and mouth set.

'Ahem, Ay would you like to eat something?' The boy nodded, following slowly.

 **-**

He followed the raven haired adult into where he presumed the kitchen was and sat himself where directed, jewelled orbs watching the back of the man making him what appeared to be jam sandwiches and a glass of orange juice.

'I hope this is alright?' The plate was pushed in front of him and the man stood awkwardly back, pressing himself into the counter sink. It was more than fine, he hadn't had jam sandwiches since he was two; he was sure they had been his favourite at the time. He couldn't help but stare at the man trying not to stare at him, his eyes shifting from one thing in the room to another within seconds; it was very awkward.

'I'm seven…' He whispered, cringing as he did so, fingers digging into the white bread.

'Are you?' He whispered back, his own fingers clenching against the counter. 'Um, can you excuse me for a minute…I should probably fix you a bedroom or something?' He fled the room rather quickly, he thought, unable to help the small quirk of his lips at the uncomfortable-ness of his…of this man.

 **-**

'Harry what on earth are you thinking, you've just kidnapped a child?!' Her words were whispered but harsh as he fled the kitchen, hand over his heart and hand over his head.

'I'm aware…though he was previously in an orphanage.' He travelled up the stairs with her on his heels, and Ron, and Snape on hers. He stood before the blank space and spun, eyes searching out the elder man's. 'Professor, perhaps you would like to open this now?' He pointed with one straight finger though it did tremble to a certain degree.

'What?' 'You didn't…'

'I did Mrs Zabini, what else could I do? He wouldn't listen.' His ebony wand was pointing at the blank wall now, 'Here you are…' it was barely above a murmur as the wall practically dissolved—Taking a breath Harry cautiously took a step inside the lighted room, apparently the child's light had not been shut out—for it was magically generated, it was a sort of spherical transparent globe, it's light something of a blue tinted **lumos** , it stood perfectly alighted on the armoire, which was a vanished rosewood. This tinted light allowed him to survey the room without an actual lumos. His emerald eyes scanned everything with shallow breaths; the professor had clearly just sealed the room from view, it was perfectly intact, nothing missing or out of place within, it was just as his memories, which began to resurface of this time, depicted it—from the soft grey carpet beneath his shoes, to the rosewood rocking chair and it's pink cushion in the furthest left corner near the window and it's light blue silk curtains, to the azure painted walls that depicted actual fluttering golden snitches across them—they zoomed as they had the first day they had been painted and spelled onto the walls. To the change table beside the armoire (it seemed the running theme for the nursery was blue), to vibrant green toy box (besides this it would seem) with the big 'A' on the front, to the polished maple cot that stood directly in the centre of the room but placed against the right wall for easier access for both parents to stand on either side, to the rumpled midnight blue baby blankets and the toys stashed within them.

Harry finally began breathing again; taking in heavy inhales and exhales through his nose, his eyes now stung so he closed them, his hands gripping the doorframe on either side of him. 'The box, where is it?' His lips barely moved.

'Oh, Professor, you shouldn't have done this! Harry? Harry are you—'

'No.' He began to shake his head fiercely, eyes still closed and hands still gripping. 'Snape isn't in the wrong here, you are Hermione, all of you, Ron, his parents, Gab, Remus, and everyone, they have to know this stuff right? There is no way such big news never reached the Daily Prophet, even you can't stop such news Hermione, no matter how much you probably wished too; there in there, in one of these other boxes.' He pointed into the room without opening his stinging orbs. 'Snape told me I asked him to "clean" everything, which means he hid everything, and I'm the one that personally forgot my memories of the events, of the family I had made in my hard fought freedom, I never asked you to help me forget them, from what I gather, I never told any of you, I screamed into Snape's fireplace. So why, exactly did you think it in my best interest to forget them altogether, to never remember them? Tell me, please. I beg you, why did you think, sure out the goodness of yours heart, I don't blame you for that; I just ask **why** you thought this was the best course of action to take with me? You even hid final battle photos, celebratory photos; merely because she was in them, and we were what, together? I remember until I was 21, then all of that till now, large chunks of it are blurs besides the obvious that I didn't forget….' He grabbed at his head with one hand as he sighed heatedly.

'Doesn't matter now, forget it, Snape just tell me where it is?'

'Potter maybe…'

'Now, Snape, I won't ask a third time.'

'Very well' he sighed, 'do you see those grooves in the wall over there' his arm came over Harry's that still clung to the doorframe and Harry followed the finger, orbs searching out grooves set into the wall; they squinted behind his lenses. 'You set the wardrobe into the wall when you built this house.'

Harry jerked, hand falling to his side and body spinning halfway around to stare incredulously at the man, 'I?' He asked, pointing shakily at himself, 'I built this house?' He blinked owlishly, mouth lax, heartrate high and thumping against his ribcage, so then why… 'Did I build this house with Luna?'

'No, you built it **for** you and Luna.'

He nodded, 'more or less the same then' he took to entering the room, feeling a cold chill take over his body as he did so; he shivered, unable to stop it, or the shakes that started in his arms and fingers as he stood before the wall-robe, it was really well hidden. 'Interesting' he whispered to himself, admiring the spellwork and craftsmanship as he opened the doors.

'So it's in here?'

'Yes.'

A small light dwelled at the top of the wardrobe, lightly illuminating the interior. Small jackets were hung on hangers of midnight blue and silver wire; little shoes were in a shoe rack at the bottom with two little backpacks laid against the metal, but there didn't seem to be—he cut his train of thought off as his eyes travelled upwards and locked with a box titled with azure letters; they spelled out the word, "Aura".

'Aura' he whispered, and he took it up as a mantra as he took the box down from the robe, shoved the doors closed with a foot and stepped back out of the door to deposit the box. 'I know this is all my fault, that who I am caused all this…but please don't ever hide anything like this from me again, promise me?' He looked up, eyes hooded at his friends and former teacher.

They stood looking guilty as he stood straight again, turned on a heel and set to tinkering with the interior decorating; it needed to be something a seven year old would admire right?

'Do you…really remember so much?' Ron had decided to come into the room and plant his hand on his shoulder blade, making Harry pause his wand waving and "aura" whispering.

His green eyes were still hooded as he spied his friend through the haze, 'More or less…'

'You uh…didn't bring Ay home because he…' he seemed uncertain, uncomfortable even.

'Looks like my son?' Harry supplied, turning away from his best friend and waving his wand in the armoire's direction- the clothes zoomed out and deposited into a box that Ron quickly conjured for him; Harry quirked a small smile in thanks. 'Yes, I did; is that a problem?'

'N…no…Harry we're just worried about you.' Ron seemed to have frozen, so Hermione's voice chimed in with her own uncertainty; though it wasn't like the uncertainty was new.

'I believe you, it's hard not to, but you have your own families to worry about, Ron you have a five year old daughter that needs your attention more than I, and two sons on the way, your wife needs you more than Harry Potter needs you. Hermione your husband is all the way in Italy attending to an inheritance of wineries, you had a life there with him, and your three children, though they may be here with you, I'm sure they miss their Father as well? And Lil'ra is only three…They need you more than I, let me worry about me?' He turned as he was speaking and turned his stare on Snape, unsure what to say, 'I respect you Severus, and I appreciate everything you do for' he shook his arms before him, 'this, and I thank you for not hindering my searches.' He said, nodding resolutely.

'You are welcome, Harry. I believe that is the first time you have spoken my given name in the last six years, if it…holds anything, I do not actually know how you lost these memories in the first place, you asked me to put this stuff away yes, but you did not ask me to oblivate you, and I would not even if you had. I left you that night, reluctantly when you asked, you were still **you** , when I came back to check on you, which was the morrow, you were not.' He was shaking his long black strands. 'You were stretched thin, I suppose…'

Harry inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of the matter—he really had, more than probably, taken his own memories away of the events and perhaps something had gone wrong due to his anguish and he took more than he had wanted too? His eyes widened abruptly as they fell on a small body, but not one that he was used to seeing; and in fact he hadn't seen them for some time, the fleeting thought vanished just as quickly with the question on his lips as he spoke to the boy, 'Ay.' The boy was looking at the box before the doorway, and swallowed as his name was spoken.

'Hello.' He hastened, trying to cover up the jump Harry supposed, 'I finished the sandwiches and juice…sir.' His green orbs moved through the pack of adults, moving from one to the next with increasing unease.

Harry frowned at the reactions, 'The room should be ready in a few minutes, sorry for the delays, uh, ah! Zavier.' The boy jumped as he was spotted hanging around the stairwell banister, his brother and Willow stationed behind him; so that was where they had been then. 'Would you mind showing Ay the television?'

'Sure.' He came forward reluctantly and grabbed the covered wrist with an awkward smile gracing his mocha skinned features. 'It's in the sitting room downstairs…' As they turned, the silvery strands of Ay's hair flowing around his porcelain face; a necklace swung around the revealed neck, swinging through the air—it was a thin band of silver with a gobstone sized aqua crystal dangling on the end. Harry stared transfixed for but a second and spoke before they took one step off the landing, 'Where did you get that?' His finger shook as he pointed with the trembling words.

The silvery haired boy looked puzzled, then with a widening of eyes jumped and hastened to shove the piece of jewellery beneath his shirt; 'Um, nowhere, it's just…just a silly little trinket sir, one of the kids at the orphanage gave it to me.' It was a very lame explanation.

'Oh?' Harry asked, his brain, and heart told him it was a blatant lie.

'Um, I don't know where he is now…everything happened so quickly…he followed me everywhere; it was something of a…friendship thing?' His words were almost frantic, merging together and becoming garbled. It didn't becoming any less a lie, especially when a small bit of sweat beaded on his forehead—though he swiped it nonchalantly. 'Where was that television again, I've never seen one before…' This, to Harry appeared to be truth.

'Mm, go on then Zavier, show young…Aura, to the tv.' The boy jerked, but his brow furrowed within a second as he followed the other boy down the stairs. Harry narrowed his eyes with a smirk, emerald eyes glittering.

'Potter'

Harry turned around, ignoring it, his lips kept the quirk as his eyes kept the glitter as he continued to rearrange the room. The last thing he needed to do was change the maple cot into a normal child's bed and use the clean sheets from the hallway cupboard.

It took no more than five minutes, 'will this do?' He stepped aside and spread his arms akimbo, so the silver haired child could see the interior (he'd gone and collected the child); it was no different than before, with the snitches still on azure painted walls, and the rosewood armoire, and maple wood, but it no longer looked like a nursery, but a young boy's room.

Harry's lips twitched as Ay nodded; he could hear the small shuddering breaths as the child made his way inside the room when Harry nodded for him to do so, he watched as the child's green eyes scanned the room, felt he saw recognition spark, then with another nod, he watched him deposit himself on the mattress of the maple bed frame. His small hands almost seemed to reverently stroke the midnight covers and his lips hard-pressed not to snicker at the snitches that zoomed beneath his hands.

'You are of course free to try out the bed if you like? If you need anything like pyjama's or something I'm sure Zavier can help you there, um, if you need anything else, feel free to come seek me out—we'll be in the kitchen.'

There was a small nod before he shut the door, he stood on this side and stared at the plain door that had been revealed—it was blue.

 **-**

'Don't go believing things that aren't proven Potter.' The man wasn't even facing Harry, turned away as he was setting the kettle on the stove, not that this couldn't have been done with magic; but whatever the man wanted to do.

'He had a necklace.'

'That means nothing.'

'He had a reaction to me asking.'

'It still does not mean anything.'

'It means something.'

'Potter'

'Snape'

The man sighed, 'Look Harry, that necklace could have come from anywhere, it could have come from where he said it did, it could be nothing but a trinket, the same as his reactions could have been nothing more than confusion.' He turned around, hands on the sink.

'Confusion, but why would he be—'

'Because clearly you were rearranging a nursery, and yet, you do not have a child.'

'Well that's…He had a reaction to me saying Aura, that isn't—'

'Yes it is. It is still classified as confusion, Potter.'

'Well then, what about Nargles and Wrackspurts, his colouring, his freaking eyes, Severus, what about his god damn green eyes? Nobody has as green eyes as me.'

'I am sure somewhere…'

'No.' Harry crossed his arms over the table, face set.

'You are not the only—'

'No.' Harry growled. 'Luna believed in Wrackspurts and Nargles, she believed in all manners of strange and weird things that haven't been proven yet, **he** believes in those too, at least those **two** , so please Professor give me a solid reason, why he couldn't be?'

'Because you have no evidence that your son is even still alive, he was taken from you at two years of age, by Death Eaters, do you honestly believe Harry that they would keep your son alive if they had already killed your wife?' It was harsh, really, it made him flinch back in his seat and drop his crossed legs beneath the table, his arms to fall back to his lap and his mouth to go dry.

'…I apologise.'

His head shook, his eyes downcast as others entered the kitchen.

'What iz going on?'

He shook his head again.

'Harry?'

And again it shook.

'Professor?'

This time it was the elder's head that shook in the negative. A silence that was thick rolled over the kitchen, exempt of course from all the everyday noises of the kitchen appliances and making of foodstuffs, and feet padding across the floorboards.

'If you do not want to believe in a miracle, then I will.' His voice was quiet and his head bent over his tea cup, but as it was quiet that you could have heard a pin drop on the wood, it rang across the space, bouncing around the five of them.

'Potter'

'Nobody wants to see you hurt, Harry.'

'Then don't watch.' He shot this back quietly at his bushy haired friend, then stared at all of their **still** concerned faces, head tilted inquisitively—in such a way that it was, he did not care if he got burned by his choices or his beliefs. He knew now, at least some, and had only to go back upstairs and rifle through that "Aura" box he'd sat in his room to know more. Was it not fair, if he **finally** had the destructive mindset he should have had?

 **-**

Severus shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in the kitchen chair. _There are those out there that believe the same things the previous Mrs Potter did, it means nothing you imbecilic child, nothing that this child believes in them too, or that he looks almost identical to what your son would look like now, pale as if he'd never seen the sun and silvery white haired with emerald eyes; I'll admit the eyes are unusual, but it's been five years—it's unreasonable to think that your boy is still alive at all, but then…_ He stared below his lashes as the man across from him conversed with Mrs Zabini. _You never were a very reasonable person._

 **-**

Harry was sat cross-legged on his bed, dressed in his nightclothes, the door firmly shut, with his hands digging through the contents of the "Aura" box. Within almost seemed to have more than the chest that had been glamoured at the top of his wardrobe;

Old newspaper clippings—but they weren't just from the daily prophet.

Unbloodied photos of his son and himself, and ones with Luna right alongside them.

Clay polished booties plaque with "Aura" engraved below it.

There was a handprint one with the same engraving etched into the mould.

A golden bracelet that sparked against the light; it wasn't bigger than two of Harry's fingers.

A few newborn clothes that they'd obviously not wanted to throw out.

Most of the baby books were in this box as well; naming, parenting, educating, and caring.

Birthday cards, from age 1 and 2—if he remembered correctly, **he** had barely **been** two.

What drew Harry were the newspaper clippings, because this meant that it **had** been in the papers and yet, if Harry left the house, no one said anything; how was this? How could the entire Wizarding World **forget** that he had lost his family almost six years ago? He jerked abruptly as something began to hum in the back of his head.

This was not a memory.

He blinked quickly, hand to the back of his head, pressing the strands. No, he shook his head, this was not a memory—it was the wards. Padding quietly to his bedroom door, Harry frowned as the buzzing abruptly cut off; he paused with his hand on the doorhandle.

Now what had that been? He frowned further.

It happened again, two hours later when he went downstairs for a nightcap.


	6. Chapter 5

_'Crestlier reporting to you on the horrific news that has just been released to me from Scotland Yard, though I believe they aren't doing enough to catch these criminals; another target has been hit, it happened late last night as partygoers held a festival in Spye Park in Wiltshire, 150 lives were taken, a low number in comparison, it was as if he knew exactly who he was going to slaughter next and left the other partygoers to scream as fellow festival'er's fell around them. According to the police this may not be the same criminal that they are trying to capture, as it wasn't in London, but clearly this means nothing, it's the same style of slaughter.'_ The reporters voice quietened and then stopped altogether before Harry could make his way into the sitting room, toast in his mouth; on the sofa sat all the children, their faces drawn and Lil'ra in tears on her eldest brother's lap.

'Why are you watching the news?' He didn't miss the jump from Ay or that he was the one with the remote clutched in his fingers. 'Have you had breakfast?' His eyes flicked to the silent reporter fluttering around the screen, pointing out the crime scene (it was clear of mess), possibly describing how she thought the murderer had come in silently and slaughtered a number of people; Harry had a mind to believe her, that the criminal was targeting specific people.

'That was the pagan festival.' Harry jumped at the voice that came behind him. 'Sorry mate' he snickered as he made his way around him and leaned on the sofa's armrest, stroking Willow's strawberry hair behind her ear.

'Pagan festival?'

'Yeah you know, when muggle's worship witchcraft?'

Harry nodded slowly, unsure what to really say, his mind was turning with the news now and the previous news; there was definitely something fishy going on there.

'It's not your problem Potter.' He jumped again, spinning around to stare at the man, who was cloaked in his usual attire but he had his hair clasped behind his neck with a silver clasp.

'Did you stay here last night?' He queried.

'I did, was I not allowed?'

'…No, it's…It's fine. What do you mean it's not—'

'It is not your problem, if it is orchestrated by Wizards, it does not concern you, you did your duty, you have your own problems to organise.' He came forward and tapped the side of Harry's head before he could move away. 'Focus on this, not the news.'

'But—'

'No, Potter.'

He sighed, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Alright, alright, the man was right, he had his memories to focus on, the wizarding world wasn't his concern anymore, yeah, he could deal with that, it was fine; he could do that, right? He clutched at strands as he warred with himself silently, his features scrunching up in frustration.

'Harry are you alright?'

He nodded silently, a twitch of a smile coming to his lips to satisfy them all, though it had been Hermione, coming into the room, which said this. 'I have work to do…' He mumbled, stepping around both her and the Professor.

 **-**

Barely out of having dinner and there was the hum in the back of his head again, he frowned as he put down the book and his liquor, standing to his feet.

'Potter?'

'It's nothing' he mumbled, stepping out of the library and into the entrance hall, the hum continued until he was at the staircase, then once again, it abruptly stopped buzzing. He paused with a foot on the upper stair and his hand on the banister, Snape below him, staring at him in concern.

'What is it?'

'Nothing'

'Harry'

'Really, it isn't…' the buzzing came back before shutting off after five seconds. He frowned, hastily making his way up the stairs and stopping before the blue door. 'Ay?' He knocked before opening the door, there was only a small bit of resistance on the hinge.

'Hmm…?'

He had rumpled hair, sticking up in all directions and he was sitting up on elbows, staring at Harry as if he couldn't see him, 'ah, sorry I woke you, I just…' He further frowned, padding at the side of his head, hand on the doorhandle. 'I'm sorry, go back to sleep.'

Harry sighed as the door closed on the white haired boy nodding slowly and slipping back into the blankets. 'Harry what the—' He ignored the man and turned to his own bedroom, 'I think I might go to bed earlier today, I'm tired.' He forced a yawn to make it believable to the eyebrow raised man.

'Very well…I will see you in two days; I will be busy at Hogwarts.'

Harry nodded, 'Goodnight Severus.' 'Goodnight Harry.'

 **-**

He sighed heavily, pushing the blankets back down to his ankles and swinging his legs over the mattress; that had been way to close for comfort.

 ** _Is he gone, brat?_**

'Yes'

 ** _The boss decided that it would be better if we stretched out your missions, now that you are living with the man. He might become suspicious, so not tonight or tomorrow, but the day after you are to do this assignment—that clear?_**

He nodded though the man could not see, the voice coming from the silver ring on his left pointer finger, the runes etched into the metal glowing a brilliant red into the room, 'Yes sir' he verbally clarified when there was silence.

 ** _Good, now get some sleep and plan your attacks._**

 **-**

When morning came and he traversed down the stairs to the kitchen, he was met with the sight of the raven haired man that had taken him in, sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed to the marble, hands spread across a numerous amount of photos, the people within moving and quietly speaking with him.

He stepped quietly around the kitchen, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table; he stared piercingly down at the photos, swallowing thickly as he noticed the contents.

'Oh, Ay, do you want some breakfast?'

It appears his swallow wasn't as quiet as he thought it had been, he nodded slowly, lips stuck together like they'd been glued shut. One of the people in a photo close to him gasped, her hands coming up to clasp over her mouth, her eyes, crystal blue—like the necklace that hung around the raven man's neck, went as wide as an owl's, before a finger pointed shakily at his form; he bit his lips and shook his head slowly.

'Ah, that's Luna.'

He jumped, 'What?'

'Luna- The woman in the picture.' He pointed over Ay's shoulder, his scent permeating A's nostrils; it was pleasant, soapy, fatherly. 'She was my wife.' He continued, 'We met in my fifth year at Hogwarts.'

'Hogwarts?' He queried, unable to help the small shiver that ran through his spine.

'Mm, Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, it's where I attended for seven years of my life, well, it's probably fair to say I only spent six years of my life there; and it wasn't all fun and games, in fact it rarely was.' He moved away and Ay sighed bereft into the juice that was set before him. 'Bread is in the toaster, it won't be a moment.' He leaned against the counter closest to it, 'I'm still trying to remember that part of my life.'

'Rem—remember?' He couldn't help the stutter that surfaced after the small pause.

'Yes' he didn't elaborate and Ay stared into the orange liquid.

 **-**

Harry wasn't sure why he was saying it, but thought better to say anything more, remembering the times when his wards buzzed in the middle of the night.


	7. Chapter 6

Three weeks. The boy had been in his home for three weeks, he got on well with the other kids, Willow seemed to have a weakness for the pale complexion because she blushed when he entered a room, he'd been quiet, polite, the perfect child really, there was just one thing that concerned Harry about this—the news reports.

Five, there had been **five** accounts of crimes, slaughters, and most of them now close to Godric's Hollow, the same types as the ones that had been plaguing London until recently.

There had been several accounts of his wards going off in the middle of the night, something was going on here and hard as he might, Harry couldn't avoid it like Snape wanted him too. He'd taken to staying up to the time around when the buzzing happened, sitting somewhere within the house, a book in hand, a tumbler at his fingertips, or a plate of snacks on his lap.

Now was no different, only this time, he wasn't the slightest bit tired and he had Snape across from him snoozing in the armchair, a book splayed across his chest, his reading glasses (those had surprised Harry when he had seen them, but apparently from the look the man gave, Harry had already witnessed it and had the same reaction the first time) crooked on his nose.

 ** _HUM, HUM, HUM._**

Emerald eyes narrowed as it began, 'Tempus', a bright green iridescent clock shimmered into existence before his very eyes, illuminating the man behind it with a green glow.

It was 12:30 am.

He'd decided he wasn't going to do anything tonight, merely figure out if what he thought was going on, was in actual fact, "going on". Now, from the time now, there should be at least two hours between the next hum entering his head.

He flipped through several books and sipped from his filled tumbler of amber liquor, before he heard the hum once more, heard a muffled crash upstairs (the man across from him jerked in his sleep, dark eyes blinking open), and cast a tempus. '2:30 am' he whispered, emerald eyes locking with frowning obsidian.

'What?'

'It's 2:30, Severus.'

'So?' he shifted within his armchair and snapped the book closed, placing it on the coffee table between them. Harry shrugged a twitch in his jaw. 'What precisely are you up to Potter?' He narrowed his black eyes; Harry shrugged once more as he stood, taking his socked feet up the staircase—the man followed, padding as silently as Harry until they paused before the blue door. 'Potter…?'

'Shhh' he pushed a finger to his lips and pressed his head to wood. There was movement from within, from what it sounded like it was the opening and closing of the wardrobe, the shuffling of getting out and in to clothes and then the ruffling of blankets. Snape's head came to rest beside his with a raised eyebrow an a quirking smirk as their noses touched and Harry's eyes closed involuntarily.

'Are we suspicious Potter?' He asked this whence they had gone back downstairs.

'Shut up' he groused, tossing back a tumbler of scotch.

'Hah' it was a bark of laughter, which caused Harry to widen his eyes and his mouth to drop an inch from the tumbler; his lips glistening. 'You are coming back to yourself.'

'Am I?' He questioned.

'You are.' He nodded once, the quirk to his lips still there.

 **-**

Neither of them went to sleep, conversing until they could hear footfalls coming down the stairs, Harry sat up straighter, his words pausing. Harry angled his head at the doors, 'Kitchen' he murmured at the confused stare.

Together they stepped into the kitchen, two children sat here.

'Morning' Harry smiled.

'Mornin' Uncle Harry, Professor.'

'Good morning'

'I wish to ask you something, but I might wait until we have everyone awake and eating breakfast.' He continued to smile as he made himself and Severus coffee. It wasn't long; perhaps 15 minutes or so before the rest of the household was downstairs and conversing around the kitchen table.

'Ahem' Harry cleared his throat, standing from his chair; eyes followed him with curiosity. 'With the permission from parents, and the children of course, would it be alright if I take the impressionable children outdoors, into London?'

'Of course Harry, if you—'

'I will of course be accompanying Mister Potter.'

'Oh well, that's great, but are you up to it Harry?'

'Yeah, I feel great.' He smiled hugely.

'Well then, you are more than welcome, but I don't think Lil'ra will go.'

'That's fine; it's more to the older children anyway.' He smiled sheepishly.

There were some laughs but as soon as the children were done eating, they raced up the stairs to get dressed; you could hear their feet pounding on the upper floor. 'It iz very kind of zyou Harry, where iz it you plan to take ze children?'

'Specifically?' He asked, draining the rest of his coffee; he needed to get dressed too. There were nods of confirmation, 'Children like parks right?' he questioned, 'I thought maybe they'd like to go out to a park or something—not one of the ones that…' They were all staring incredulously so he thought he'd clarify for them, even though this was technically a massive lie. 'Excuse me though; I need to get dressed myself.'

'I will duck back to Hogwarts; I'll be back in 20 minutes.'

'Alright, that's fine Severus.'

 **-**

Harry pointedly watched the children as they made their way into the park, in fact, he made a point to watch the porcelain face with emerald orbs. His pale eyelashes, almost not existent were fluttering as they stepped onto the green earth; there were patches of black grass, seared by fire—from the reports that Harry had searched extensively in the last few weeks, it was almost as if some of the people slaughtered here had spontaneously combusted, others had been merely…stabbed and then set alight.

'Uncle Harry?'

'Yes Willow?'

'Why are we in Green Park, isn't this one of the…one of the—'

'One of the crime scenes…' supplied Zavier, hands in his pockets and eyes scanning the ground and around the trees. 'Why did you bring us to a crime scene?'

'Aren't children interested in this stuff?'

'No.' Marcel shook his black curls. 'We aren't.'

'Uh, I'm sorry, let's go to the market then?'

'But that's—'

'A market is a market, it's actually a place full of stores filled with interesting items and contraptions, regardless of it having been one of the first crimes; people still attend them.' He gathered them and together, they took the bus to the Thames boardwalk. 'There see, lots of people gather to see the market stalls, come on, it won't harm you, you might even like something and Uncle Harry will buy it for you.'

'Potter'

'Mm?'

'What is that you **are** trying to accomplish by doing this?' It was whispered into his ear and he shivered at the warm breath on the chilled appendage.

'Honestly?'

'Yes'

'I'm not a 100% sure myself.'

 **-**

They went to several parks and markets, even a water park that caused both adults to transfigure all their clothes into swim suits in the bathroom—they had, had to wait five minutes before they could do any such thing, busy as it was.

They also got strange looks as they travelled with the mixed group, they even got comments that Harry flushed at and Snape grouched at, most of them from old folks and overly polite receptionists and ticket personnel, they were all something along the lines of; 'Oh, how lovely, such lovely parents, taking your children to the water park', 'Bold aren't we, but such a lovely couple', 'bit older that one, maybe he's taking all his children to the park?'

That one had Snape hurrying up their footsteps and walking around the corner. Through this entire adventure, Harry watched Ay's reactions. By the time they had reached home and Harry had fiddled with the key in the front door, Ay's head was permanently lowered, he barely spoke, and his eyes barely focused on anything for overly long. If it happened again tonight, then Harry would do something about it.

 **Chapter 6,**

Tonight,

Tonight marked the night,

The night…

The day had been horrible, besides the waterpark, but that had been the only fun part of the day, the rest of it had him reliving all the horrible things he'd done since he'd turned seven. Did the man perhaps know? If he knew, then this was going to be twice as hard to accomplish, not that it wasn't already twice as hard already—if he hadn't spoken that name the first time he'd came here, if he hadn't given him jam sandwiches, or this room, or hadn't seen this necklace that hung from his neck.

He sighed downtrodden as he perched on the edge of the bed; the maple digging into his buttocks through the pyjama's that he had borrowed from Zavier—the boy was nice. They were all nice; he didn't want to do this.

Why couldn't he just find the right time or the right spell to shove these missions in those men's faces? Why was he so scared that one day they'd proclaim him useless and kill him? That was what it was, it was fear, fear that one day, this leash would choke him if he didn't obey them; they were out there, they knew where he was, they knew how to get to him.

 **There was no choice**.

He slipped from the maple, feet thudding onto the carpet, slipped out of the borrowed clothes, standing in nothing but his green underwear, he folded them carefully and sat them on the made bed; he would not be sleeping in it tonight, tonight, it was the last time he would be in this house, forever.

He choked as a sob escaped his lips, hands scrubbing crossly at them, he pushed open the wardrobe took out his mission suite and the rest of the clothes, the shoes, the pack, and exempting the suit, shoved everything inside the backpack.

He stared around the room as he pushed his head into the soft black material of his long sleeve formfitting shirt, it covered to his wrists, and then gloves would cover to his first knuckle; a harness of dark leather was wound around his torso for his weapons and flash potions, and his legs slid into leather jeans designed for combat, black boots that slid to his knees were slipped over his white socked feet and then with a heated sigh, he slipped a glamour of black over his hair.

'Now…' out the window.

 **-**

'What are you doing Ay?'

He jumped a foot into the air, not expecting a voice to greet him as he returned. He spun on his heel as he closed the window and drew the curtains, gloves scourgified of blood. 'Mist—'

'I suppose.' He was leaning against the doorframe, shadowed by the light filtering in through the hallway behind him; his hair covered most of his face and kept one green eye glowing in the darkness. 'Where do you keep going, or should I say why?' 'Or further yet…' he didn't let the startled child get a word in, 'Why are you, a seven year old boy, murdering thousandths of people?'

'I…'

He shook his head, 'No, you can't get out of this. Sit down.' He pointed to the bed, he felt really disappointed, angered even; even if this boy was not his son, he had taken him into his home, he had fed him, taken him on an outing, and he'd given him his son's room. 'Sit down' he growled when the boy didn't comply, slamming the door as he came into the room and dropped himself on the mattress.

The footsteps were quiet, nimble, and slow but he finally sat on the edge of the mattress as if ready to flee at any second; it was a good choice, the boy had survival instincts.

'You can tell I'm displeased?' There was a silent nod. 'Good, do you understand the reason?' There was more silence and he sighed heavily, 'I have been through a lot of shit in my life Ay, I had a prophecy declared after I was born deciding that only I could kill a Dark Lord that plagued the world, I first defeated him when I was barely two years old, he took away my parents, I was placed with relatives that cared nothing for me, He followed me to school, I killed a teacher that had been chosen by Voldemort to be a parasite for his own soul when I was Eleven, I almost died, my friend almost died, I have almost died more times than I would care to admit, all whilst attending Hogwarts, and my Godfather was ripped from me before I really knew him more than a few years, I actually did die to get rid of something evil when I was seventeen—do you understand where I'm going with this?

I found love after the Second Wizarding War was won, but I barely remember it, I married that women and we bore a child together, his name, Aura, and they were taken from me when he was barely two years old, for all intents and purposes I took my own memories. I have been through so much, and I don't want to be selfish, but aren't you being a bit disrespectful to me, to my home, my generosity?'

There was a swallow and he stared harder at the bowed head, dispelling the glamour as he did so; the boy jerked but did nothing else like the first time they had met in St. Mungo's.

'I'm…I…I'm sorry.'

'Are you?'

Silver hair moved up so as to peer into the emerald mirrored back, the silver strands fell over those brilliant shimmering orbs, the tear drops sliding down the porcelain face caused Harry to rear back ever so slightly on the duvet; was this truth? Or was it acting?

'I…I'm sorry…I'm…I…I'm so sorry!' he cried the words as he flung himself toward Harry, a silver flash appearing in Harry's peripheral—he felt a spike of pain before he registered that the boy was running out of the room and down the hallway, the silver dagging dripping Harry's blood on the floorboards.

'Ay! NNNG!' He doubled over as he threw himself to his feet, his hand blinding reached out for the wall as his stomach contracted painfully; he wasn't very game to look down, not as he saw the handprint of red on azure wall beside the open door.

Doors were slamming open down the hallway, he moved himself, one hand on the wall and the other on his stomach; it was deep. 'Ay!' he shouted, colour draining from his face. He ignored as Snape appeared beside him, urging him to stop and tell him what the shouting was about; he was in his nightshirt—it would have caused Harry a few snickers if he could spare the breath, for it had a cauldron on the front that bubbled green glob onto the shirt, but this wasn't the time for snickers at his Ex-Potions Teacher's night clothes, he had a seven year old to stop.

'Ay!' He shouted again, urging himself agonisingly down the hallway to the children's bedroom; sure that the child had come this way. He paused at Zavier's open door and heaved a breath as the boy was floating on the roof, a bat in his hands, eyes wild.

'Uncle Harry!'

'It's alright, Severus take Zavier downstairs, I'll send the others.' There was hesitation but the man nodded slowly, grasping the floating boy's ankle and mindfully moving him to the stairs. Harry sweat beading on his forehead, not concerned for his own health, moved down the hallway; he stopped at Marcel's room, he was in the corner, eyes just as wild as his brother's, covered with a protego and holding his own dagger—though it was plastic; he sent him downstairs too. Lil'ra was safely ensconced in her crib with her mother's protective spells protecting her from harm; he breathed a breath and floated her down the stairs carefully. Next was Willow, she wasn't in her room; which caused Harry a semi-heart attack.

'Willow?!' He shouted, urging himself quicker down the hallway, blood dribbled down his clothes to the floor, dropping onto the floorboards. 'Willow?!'

'Harry?'

'Her…'Mione…' He breathed, having some trouble. 'You're, you're alright.'

'Yes?' She frowned, 'What's—'

'Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!'

They both jumped into action as they heard the screams, skidding into Ron and Gabrielle's bedroom, where it seemed to come from; it was still going. Harry's mouth dropped open as he spotted the scene inside. Gabrielle was huddled on the bed; hands clasped over her stomach with her daughter protectively between one arm and huddled into the blankets, her face as white as a sheaf of paper, tears travelling down her flushed cheeks. Ron was in nothing but boxers with his wand pointed down at a huddled figure in the corner, the limbs trembled around the head of silver that splayed across the floor; 'Ron!' Harry screeched, wrenching the wand from the unfocused gaze of one of his best friends. 'He's a child!'

'He's a murder.' He growled. 'He hurt my daughter.' He further hissed, knuckles cracking as he tried to advance. Saying nothing to the contrary Harry moved to intercept the angered man, emerald eyes roaming over the young girl once more; there was an open wound across her neck, slowly soaking the collar of her nightgown red.

Harry clenched his jaw, eyes screwing shut in a new kind of agony. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered, keeping his hands clasped around his friend's wand, then advanced on the whimpering child, his shirt was scored open as he lowered himself. 'Ron, what else did you—'

'He came in here like that, I only did that.' He pointed down to the quivering in anger.

'Alright, I'm going to need some answers now; the truth Ay.' He lowered his voice, though it wasn't hard to do with how angry he felt, then grabbed the boy around the middle; he didn't protest, though he did whimper and clutch the back of Harry's shirt as he pressed him into his side as he exited the bedroom—his friends followed, standing in the door arms crossed as they converged in the sitting room.

Hermione of course went to her sons' and daughter when she saw their frightened faces, though Lil'ra was still fast asleep in a conjured basinet.

Harry threw the boy into an armchair, uncaring as he bounced and clawed at the material, his throat whimpering and his eyes producing copious amounts of tears behind the silver strands of limp hair. He turned after a piercing stare with the lowered white head and whispered into the Professor's ear as he withdrew a small green vial from the waistcoat—the man had clearly switched over clothes, good course of action.

'Now, open wide.' He clasped the white jaw tight enough to cause him to open his mouth but not enough to bruise; he wasn't that cruel. 'What is your name?' He was going to get answers and he was going to get them now. The jaw clenched so Harry's eyes narrowed, 'What is your **full** name?' he growled, adrenaline having taken over.

'Au…' It clenched again, as the hands did on the armrests.

'The sooner you tell the absolute truth the quicker it will be for me to decide what to with you and your disrespect.'

The small body jerked as it hiccoughed. '…Au..ra…O…siris…Potter…' He sighed, emerald orbs closing as Harry fell to the floor with a pained groan. 'I'm…I'm sor-'

'Your age?' He interrupted eyes downcast to the bloodstain on his clothes and hands.

'…Seven…'

'Your birthday?' He whispered.

'May 3rd, 2002; it's the same date as your wedding anniversary.' He whispered.

Harry swore quietly, hand coming back to cover the wound behind his ripped shirt. He ignored any whispered words that were coming from behind him, or gasps.

'Your Mother's name?'

'Luna Potter, though I only know that from the times you spoke each other's names and…' The jaw clenched once more and the hands clawed at the material of the chair.

'And…?'

'…And the men that mocked what they did, to my face…' He choked.

'Do you remember?'

'Yes'

'How?'

'I'm not stupid'

Harry laughed at this, 'there a very many different forms of "stupid", Aura, it does not mean you are not stupid for what you have done recently. So tell me, as your Father, why have you done all this? Why have you killed innocent people? Why did you try to kill me and my friends, my family? Your family.' His voice took on an edge as he straightened himself back up, though he remained kneeling on the floorboards.

The green came up, staring through strands of hair, directly into Harry's equally green eyes. 'Because I haven't had a choice, I'm scared, I'm afraid, I was taken from here when I was two, from my parents, my mother was slaughtered in front of me, my Father was nowhere to be seen as this happened, and I was taken by the men that did it; they aren't nice people, shouldn't you know this already? They were men you let escape.' His own voice held an edge and he came forward in his seat an inch, peering down as Harry's mouth opened and his eyes narrowed in astonishment. 'They wanted this, they wanted all this, and you've been entrapped by them for seven years without realising; they followed everything you did, bidding their time, it's amazing how much one can say to someone they've claimed as their own, isn't it?' He hissed, green eyes sparking. 'I was trapped in a small room, with nothing but a bed, a cold floor, a wall sconce, a side toilet and wash basin, and a constant chill seeping into my bones until I was five, then I got a bedroom, I got books, I got clothes, I got a light, but I didn't get love and I certainly didn't have a childhood, I got those things because they wanted to train me, they used me as their own tool, their own weapon.' He took a shaky breath. 'I slaughtered hundreds in that orphanage because they asked me too, because I couldn't think of any way to stop it from happening, except to draw a protective rune in the common room, that's the only reason those 9 survived my accidental anger.

You were right, I did lash out, but I would have had to do it anyway. I killed those people in Green Park because I had too or I would be punished, I don't like being punished; it hurts.' His pale face was closer now; it was hard for Harry to focus on the angered face.

'I murdered those people at the markets because I was told too, I slaughtered those people at the Pagan Festival because I was told too, and I slaughtered all those others because I—'

'Because you had too.' Harry whispered, 'Severus, he still under?'

'He is.'

'Alright then, you said you got punished, is that what those are?' His voice came out wispy, his breathing shallow and his eyesight deteriorating by the minute; before that happened, he would find out the absolute truth.

'Yes'

'Why did you try…' He had to pause to take a heaving breath, '…try…to kill us?' There was a tilt of the white head before the eyes closed in his blurry vision. 'Because they wanted me too, it was my main objective after the orphanage, it was to draw you out; it worked. And didn't my dagger?' He whispered, a shaky laugh escaping his throat as a tear fell from his left eye.

'You haven't stopped the bleeding.'

'What?! Potter you imbecile!' A large hand threw his shoulder back as the colour finally drained from his face and his body slid backwards, eyes flickering closed and his hands falling limply by his sides, as he was lowered to the ground the full impact of the dagger was revealed, Harry's entire shirt was saturated in fresh red blood, as his hands were stained with the colour. 


	8. Chapter 7

'Fuck!' He swore, pulling his ebony wood from within his coat pocket and beginning a bunch of healing spells, 'You!' He spat, a red-stained finger pointing accusingly at Aura, 'You know runes?' The white head nodded slowly, 'Then start chanting you good for nothing little brat!' He pulled with all his strength until the stubborn child was on the floor and was closer to his dying father; something that should put things in perspective.

'You want not to be frightened anymore?' He growled, not waiting for an answer he kept growling, obsidian eyes focused on the barely breathing body before him. 'You chant as hard as you can at your Father's wound, and you make sure he lives, but first; Zabini!' He snapped, the woman jumped near her children.

'Sir?' Her voice warbled.

'Remove that offending trinket from that boy's finger' he pointed then ignored everything else, even the boy's screams as the woman clasped his hand and began to chant, it would not be easy and the boy would be lucky to walk away with the finger, but it needed to go before they set this right. 'Weasley!' He barked.

'Sir!'

'Go and spell Potter's wards for him.'

'Yes sir' and he ran from the room, pressing a hand to his wife's arm and his daughters head. Now that was taken care of, he just needed to focus all of his attention on this idiot, hopefully he could do a good enough job for the brat to his right, and for Madam Pomfrey whom he'd call once he was sure the idiot would at least live for the next few hours.

'Vulnera Sanentur'

'Vulnera Sanentur'

'Vulnera Sanentur'

'Uruz Ansuz teiwaz inguz dagaz othala' He drew runes with the blood that had seeped onto the floorboards below the chilled body, he kept his eyes on the task of writing the runes as he spoke them, sounding them out for good measure, 'ooaatngdo' he prayed this would work as he stared for a split second at the reddened skin of his burnt pointer finger.

'Vulnera Sanentur'

'Vulnera Sanentur'

'Tergeo, Ferula' he whispered.

'Nng' he groaned as he moved, hissing as he turned onto something that hurt like hell. 'Urg'

'Easy there Mister Potter, you haven't healed properly yet, and in fact you have a lot of thanking to do for your life as it is right now, one would think.'

He groaned further as he heard the voice and breathed out a breath that stayed on his face, flickering open emerald orbs, he flinched back from the face that hindered his sight of the ceiling. It retreated with its own flinch, and he heard a scrapping of a chair to his left.

'Am I in the Infirmary?'

'You are in your bed at home, I did not want to move you; you are healing nicely but it will take another month for it to fully heal and even then, there will be a nasty scar on your stomach; such silliness Mister Potter, you should know better.'

He pulled himself into a lopsided upright position against his headboard, until someone with larger hands than the matron fixed the crooked angle and patted his shoulder tenderly; and it was tenderly. 'Pro—'

'Severus or Snape, Potter.'

'Right' he chuckled, groaning as it hurt.

'Easy Mister Potter, what did I just say?'

'…You said another month, what did you mean by that?' He turned his unfocused eyes toward her puttering form, she seemed to be tucking him in and rearranging potion vials on his bedside table, before a picture frame of himself, Luna and Aura—he stared at it, blinking rapidly, 'When did that—'

'Mrs Zabini thought you might wish for the items to be back around the house.' It didn't sound like the man had thought the same thing.

'Did you?' He asked.

'I did not.'

He nodded once, hands clenching in the sheets. 'Madam Pomfrey?'

'Poppy dear, I think you've more than earned the right now.'

He smiled awkwardly, 'Poppy, have I been in this bed for a month already?'

'You have' she clarified, 'I need to go back to Hogwarts now, but I'm sure that Severus and your friends are more than capable of caring for you now, though I will be back in a few days to check on your progress; try to take a walk around every now and then, take it easy first though, yes?' She sounded reprimanding but he nodded, she knew him well.

'I will unfortunately only be here for another few hours at most, then I must go back to Hogwarts myself; after all I do have the life of a Professor.' Harry nodded, 'of course, sir.'

'Um, would you mind…' he stared at the door and then to the silver head in the chair to his left that was lowered to his knees.

'Very well, do try not kill him, won't you?'

'Warming to him are you?' He smirked, a spark in his eye.

'Shut up.' He left the room with Harry snickering.

'I'm sorry…'

Harry's laughter broke off abruptly and he sat heavily back against his backrest. 'You were not taken from my home I see, have you atoned in my friends' eyes somehow? And to get Severus to stand up for you, must have done something exceptional.' He spoke at the wall across the room.

'That woman, Madam Pomfrey, she said I practically saved your life after the Professor healed your initial wound. I don't think it's enough to atone for what I've done, especially not in your eyes, and I know the public doesn't know, but I feel like they're wondering where I was and what I was doing until now.'

'I'm sorry?' His head turned slowly in the boy's direction, confused.

He held out a rumpled newspaper, his hands shaking and revealing one scarred pointer finger, which drove Harry to be more confused; he took the paper and stared at it with his own shaking hands.

 **Heir of Potter alive and back?**

 **Is it a miracle? Is it unreal? Or has this all been some elaborate hoax? Our one and only Saviour trying to get attention, and pretending that his family was slaughtered? Is Mrs Potter still alive as well, holed up in the Potter estate in Godric's Hollow?**

 **There is no mistaking that this is Harry Potter and Luna Potter nee` Lovegood's only child, Aura Osiris Potter, for what child could have that pale complexion, white hair and those emerald eyes that we associate so famously with the scar on his Father's forehead?**

 **This photograph though depicting the child's back, was captured by an everyday Diagon Alley-goer, and sent into us proclaiming he'd seen the "missing" son of Harry Potter, there is another photo of the "missing" Aura Potter, age Seven, with a bunch of other children and what appears to be Mrs Hermione Zabini nee` Granger and best friend Ronald Weasley and wife Gabrielle, heavy with twins heading into Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions on the 31st of July, on the front page of this article; Mister Potter himself appeared not to be with the crowd on his own Birthday, we wonder why this is?**

Harry threw the prophet at the opposing wall, beside the door. The boy jumped, head lowering back to his lap. 'I'm, I'm sorry…I shouldn't have…They asked…I..' Harry began to shake his head, exhaling heavily, 'You are free to go shopping Aura.'

'Am I?' He asked, questioningly, as if he wasn't sure this was the truth.

'You are, I am not…' He breathed again, closing his eyes. 'I am your Father, I am not a Death Eater telling you what to do and what not to do, I am not going to hurt you, regardless of how mad you make me or how disappointed I become with you; I have no right to discipline you anyway, I have not been your Father for well, six years…'

'But you are still…'

'Your Father, yes, but I am not your Dad.' He shook his head, heart heavy. 'I wish I understood how to discipline you for doing what you did, but I honestly don't have the slightest clue and you've saved my life, yes? So I suppose the best you will get from me is this for now, you will have to earn my trust with you, my respect, my love.'

'Is that fair?'

The head was lowered once more. 'Yes…Um, what do I call you?'

'Whatever you wish I suppose, but I think it best if you pick from Harry, or sir, even Father but that is still stretching it now I think, for me.' There was a nod followed by, 'yes, sir' and the boy standing from the seat that had been placed there, he paused at the doorhandle.

'I'm really sorry…Happy…Happy Birthday…'

Though it appeared to be a bit late, Harry nodded, his eyes stinging and pressed himself back into the bed with a hiss of lasting pain as the door closed. This was going to be hell, he had his son back but he couldn't be that son yet, and he couldn't be that long lost Dad either and he desperately wanted that, his heart just wouldn't allow it yet.

Finite


	9. Chapter 8

AN—There will be a sequel to this story, please be patient.


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